


Victuuri Short Stories

by braveten



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Drabbles, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, One Shot Collection, Pizza Delivery Boy AU, Role Reversal AU, Single Parent AU, Texts From Last Night, Truth or Dare, coffee shop AU, dog shelter au, prompts from tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 10:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10569504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braveten/pseuds/braveten
Summary: This is a collection of Victuuri short stories that I have written on Tumblr!





	1. the office party

**Author's Note:**

> HI GUYS! I've gotten several requests to post my Tumblr drabbles on AO3, so here I am!  
> I answer a lot of prompts on my Tumblr, and some are shorter than others. On here, I'll only be uploading the ones that are titled and edited! However, if you want to see all of my writing, you can check out my [prompt tag](actualyuuri.tumblr.com/tagged/prompt) or just my [account in general!](actualyuuri.tumblr.com)  
> Also, in the notes before each mini-fic, I will post information about the drabble (length, rating, etc.)!
> 
>  **LEGEND:**  
>  capitalized title = set in canon;  
> lowercase title = AU;  
> asterisk (*) beside title = explicit content;
> 
> [the office party](https://actualyuuri.tumblr.com/post/157712561564/the-office-party-so-exile-wrath-sent-me-this)  
> length: 1.8k  
> rating: teen+  
> warnings: none  
> summary: Victor receives an interesting text and isn’t sure what to think of it.

There are twelve texts on Victor’s phone.

(Five are from Mila about a meeting that he has scheduled for five o’clock.)

(Three are from Yurio about how Victor’s last Instagram post was, apparently, annoying.)

(Two are from Christophe—drunk rambles presumably from the office party that had taken place the night before.)

(One text is from Georgi, something sappy about his ex-girlfriend.)

And then there’s one more. From a number that he doesn’t have saved, oddly enough. It’s just a photo attachment, so after opening the last eleven texts, he taps on it, curious. And then blinks a few times, and then backs out of the messages app, and then opens it up again, just to make sure he’s not mistaken.

Yes.

It’s definitely a photo of a penis.

 _Whose_  penis, Victor isn’t sure. That’s the mystery, really. He raises an eyebrow, examines the photo carefully, because if it was sent to him, then it was obviously sent to him for examination, right? Then, though, he taps his finger on his lips, tries to figure out what he should do about this—if anything. It’s a surprisingly high quality photo. The lighting is decent. And the subject isn’t bad, either. But he’s slightly surprised, because if this is from the office party last night, then that means that one of his own employees had sent him a photo of their penis.

He ends up texting Yakov, who keeps a careful directory of every employees’ phone number in his contacts.

**Do you mind searching your contacts for a number with 481-516 in it?**

There’s a response almost instantaneously.  **Yuuri Katsuki.**

 _Yuuri Katsuki,_  Victor thinks.  _The new guy._  The first time he’d tried to talk to Yuuri Katsuki, the other man had promptly tripped over his own feet and crashed into the coffee machine. It had been absolutely adorable, Victor recalls. In fact, Yuuri Katsuki himself is absolutely adorable. Contemplating, he takes another look at the photo. He can’t claim to know Yuuri well—their offices are on opposite ends of the building—but he definitely doesn’t seem like the type of person to send a photo of his penis to just anybody.

Victor pushes the lock button on his phone, decides to head into work early. He showers, gets dressed, and is in the car in no time. His thoughts are consistently occupied with his limited memories of his interactions with the black-haired man. Sometimes they run into each other at the copying machine. One time Yuuri had been bent over, trying to fix it, and Mila had caught Victor ogling another prominent part of his anatomy.

As soon as he arrives at the building, he’s greeted by everyone. Makkachin follows closely behind him. There’s a ‘no pets’ policy in the building, but nobody has ever bothered him about it, and he doesn’t like to leave Makkachin alone at home if he can help it. His poodle takes his usual position in the doggy bed in Victor’s large corner office, with full-length windows looking out over Detroit. Victor flips open his laptop, sips the latte that Sara had bought for him, then takes the black office phone in hand.

He taps the ‘0’ button.

“Can you tell Yuuri to come to my office, please? Yuuri Katsuki?”

There’s an affirmation from the other end of the line.

Victor leans back in his chair, smiles at Makkachin, who is already asleep. His latte has extra foam in it today, he notices with pleasant surprise. Perhaps there’s a new barista at the local coffee shop. He makes a mental note to ask Sara about it. Then, he starts looking over his schedule for the day, which is color-coded on his laptop.

He thinks about what he’ll say to Yuuri. Obviously, he’s flattered that Yuuri had thought of him last night, but at the same time, this isn’t exactly Victor’s preferred way of being asked out. But he’ll say yes anyway. Because Yuuri is attractive, and, as has been previously stated, adorable. He seems nice, too, from what he’s seen. And obviously he has an outgoing side to him, too, judging by the text.

There’s a knock on the door a few minutes later. There’s a small, darkened window on the door, and Victor can just make out a head of black hair, the rim of glasses. Makkachin glances up in surprise, and Victor shuts his laptop, keeping his latte in one hand and fixing his hair with the other. He should’ve spruced up for this, right? Should’ve dressed fancier than usual? Or perhaps he should’ve asked Sara to buy Yuuri a coffee, too? Does Yuuri drink coffee? Or is he a tea person?

“Um, hi,” Yuuri says when he swings open the door. He’s still hiding behind it, face peeking out around the edge. The blood has drained from his face, and Victor sees him swallow thickly, tugging on the collar of his shirt. “You… I think… Somebody said… You asked to see me?”

“You sound surprised,” Victor points out.

“Oh, no,” he blurts, shaking his head quickly. “Well, yes. I am surprised.” Cautiously, he steps into the room, not shutting the door behind him.

Victor smiles, taking in the sight of him. He’s wearing black pants and a plaid white and blue button up. His dress shoes look worn, rough scratches on the tips. His hair is neat, though, and his eyes are large and brown and… Scared? He shuffles his feet, scrutinized under Victor’s gaze.

Victor taps his fingers on the edge of his cup, a metronomic beat, and Yuuri’s eyes are drawn to the action like a moth to a flame. “Do you know why I called you in here?”

Yuuri physically grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Is it… Is it because what I accidentally sent you last night? Because I’m so, so—”

“Accidentally?”

His eyes fly open, larger than before, more horrified. “ _What?_ ”

Victor frowns, confused. “It was an accident?”

“I was drunk,” he stammers, trying to get the words out so quickly that they’re piling on top of each other, a complete mess, “I was drunk and Christophe—you know Christophe Giacometti?—he dared me to text you a photo and I wasn’t thinking straight and please,  _please_ don’t fire me because my roommate has three hamsters to feed and really we can’t afford for me to lose my job and also I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

He only takes into account half of those words, his mind still fixated on one point. “So you  _weren’t_  trying to ask me out?”

Just when Victor thought it was impossible, Yuuri pales more. “What? No! No, no.” He stiffens. “I mean, no  _sir._ ”

“Oh,” Victor exhales, surprised and disappointed.

Yuuri wipes his hands on his thighs. “You… You thought I was asking you out? By sending you…” His voice trails off and he winces again. “By sending you that?”

“Yes,” he answers honestly.

“No, no, I would never do something so disrespectful.” There’s a pause. “I mean, I guess I would, because I  _did,_  but I would never… Not… Not on purpose… I won’t… I’m…” He stares at Victor, desperate for mercy.

“So you got drunk at a party, sent your boss a licentious photo based off of a dare from Christophe Giacometti, of all people, and didn’t follow up at all? Didn’t think to send another text in the morning?” Victor asks, genuinely curious.

He blinks. “I… I should’ve said something. Sorry. I only saw it this morning when I was going through my texts and I thought—if I’m being honest, I thought maybe you wouldn’t figure out that it was my number. But it, er, makes sense that you would. Figure it out. Because you’re…” Yuuri gestures towards the nameplate on his desk.

“Right. Well, I have to say that I’m disappointed.”

“Yes! Of course!” Yuuri gasps, almost sounding relieved. “Of course you are. And I’m so sorry, and like I said, it won’t happen again, it won’t ever happen again. I swear.”

Victor doesn’t understand. He tilts his head to the side, tilts his latte back, drinking some of the warm liquid. It’s a slow sip, and he can feel Yuuri’s tension growing with every passing second. “No, no, Yuuri, I’m disappointed that you weren’t asking me out.”

Yuuri sucks in a breath. He turns to glance briefly at Makkachin, as though asking the dog whether or not this is a joke. Then, he turns back to Victor, tugs at the collar of his shirt again. “You’re… You were… You  _wanted_  me to ask you out?”

“Yes.”

“By sending you a photo of my, um, of…”

“Of your penis,” Victor finishes for him, and Yuuri chokes on air. “I will say, that’s not my preferred way of being asked out, but I certainly wasn’t offended by it.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I… Mr. Nikiforov, I’m trying to tell whether or not you’re joking,” Yuuri says slowly.

Victor laughs at that. “Not joking. But, anyway, that’s fine, you can go back to whatever you were doing. I just wanted to clear things up. I would’ve said yes, though, obviously.”

That seems to pique Yuuri’s interest. “You would’ve?”

He nods. “Sure. You seem lovely.”

Yuuri flushes red, offers a thankful smile. “Um… Okay, I still don’t know if you’re serious, but if you are, then you’re saying you would want to… Possibly… Maybe… Get coffee?” He glances at Victor’s latte. “I mean, not now. Because you have coffee. Wait, you have coffee every day, don’t you? Sara gets it for you. Okay, so not coffee, but we could, if you are serious, do something else. Not involving coffee.” He swallows. “Or alcohol.”

“Something neither coffee nor alcohol related?” Victor muses out loud. “A movie, maybe?”

“I like movies,” Yuuri answers, unsure.

“Two rules.”

Yuuri bites his lip, listening.

Victor continues. “One, you can just call me Victor. Two, before the date, send me a few more photos like the one from last night.”

He practically sinks into the floor with disappointment. “Mr. Nik—I mean Victor, um, with all due respect, I’m not going to—”

“I was kidding,” he adds, smiling again.

After a second, Yuuri lets out a relieved laugh, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “So I’m not fired?”

“Not fired.”

“And… And you’re asking me out?”

“Yes. What do you say?” Victor waits, hopeful.

“I say it’s only fair that you have to send me a picture back.”

Victor’s jaw goes slack, he feels all of his coherent thoughts scatter. “What?”

Yuuri laughs again, quieter this time. “That was, um, sorry. I was trying to make a joke.”

“Oh,” Victor breathes, delighted. “But, yes, then? That’s a yes?”

“Sure,” Yuuri answers, smiling. “A movie. Are you free on Friday?”

Victor isn’t free on Friday, but he nods anyway. “Sounds like a plan. See you then?”

“See you then,” he responds, and is out of the door in a flash.

He looks at the photo one more time, then deletes it and saves Yuuri’s phone number as a contact. He texts Christophe.  **Thx for your dare.**

**Aha, had a feeling you’d be thanking me xx**


	2. Bragging Rights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a party in Phichit’s hotel room after a Grand Prix Final event, and he knows exactly how to keep everyone entertained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Bragging Rights](https://actualyuuri.tumblr.com/post/157081952339/yuri-on-ice-truth-or-dare-is-my-new-favorite)  
>  length: 2.3k  
> rating: teen+  
> warnings: none  
> summary: There’s a party in Phichit’s hotel room after a Grand Prix Final event, and he knows exactly how to keep everyone entertained.

It’s Phichit’s idea.

(Obviously.)

“Okay,” Phichit says as he tears apart a piece of paper, distributing the fragments among everyone. He had arranged all of the skaters in a neat circle a few minutes ago, including Yurio, who had scowled. Phichit’s hotel room is small, but it fits them all with ease. “Everybody write down one truth and one dare.”

“You only gave us each one piece of paper,” Leo points out. “You want us to write them both down on the same piece?”

Phichit blinks slowly, his tipsy mind trying to process the words. “No. Tear your paper in half.”

The newly divided bits of paper are far too small for legible handwriting, but nobody questions Phichit. Yuuri had been reluctant to play in the first place, but Victor had practically dragged him to the circle, sitting by his side with his thigh distractingly pushed up against Yuuri’s. He had drunk the most out of all of them—Yuuri had seen him devouring glass after glass of champagne at the banquet earlier.

“Put the truths in this pile and the dares in this pile,” Phichit instructs everyone. When people start putting down their slips, he frowns. “No, no, this pile, Yuuri. Wait, I meant this pile, you’re right. Oh, whatever.”

It ends up being one pile. Phichit doesn’t seem to mind that much.

“Now here’s how this works—whoever has the most points at the end wins.”

JJ tilts his head to the side. “Wins what?”

“Bragging rights. To get a point you have to complete whatever truth or dare you pull. And if you don’t want to do it, somebody else can steal the point. First person to offer to steal gets it.”

Victor starts giggling at that—Yuuri isn’t sure why. Either way, Victor is fully leaning on him now, an arm snaking around Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri doesn’t move, leaning back against Victor to support his weight, but feels himself blushing and hopes that nobody notices. He has seen Victor drunk on many occasions before, yet it always seems to feel like a new experience.

“Yuuri, I’m going to win,” Victor whispers into his ear, as though divulging a great secret. Then he giggles again, uncontrollably this time.

(Yuuri is fairly certain he’s right about winning.)

“Okay, Yuuri, you start,” Phichit commands.

“Why do I have to—”

“You start.”

He sighs and shifts forward, not missing Victor’s pout at the loss of contact. “I’m going to pick a truth.” He pulls one piece of paper, sees ‘Dare’ written at the top, and puts it back.

“No picking and choosing!” Phichit reminds him.

Yuuri ignores him and finds one labeled ‘Truth.’ He wonders if a chimpanzee wrote it, based off of the handwriting. “ _Can you lick your elbow?_ ” he reads out loud. “Um, I don’t think so.”

“Try it,” Christophe suggests.

Self-consciously, Yuuri lifts his arm and gives it a feeble attempt. “I guess I can’t.”

“I can lick it for you,” Victor suggests, reaching out towards him without hesitation.

There’s a low whistle from Christophe, but Yuuri just pushes Victor’s hand away, sitting back down beside him. Victor instantly leans his head on Yuuri’s shoulder, letting out a contented sigh. “Your turn, Victor,” Phichit says. “Yuuri has one point.”

Victor reaches out one arm and picks a piece of paper from the pile. “ _Handcuff yourself to one person for the rest of the night._ ”

“I have handcuffs!” Christophe offers, grabbing his jacket off of Phichit’s hotel room bed. He reaches into the side pocket and produces a silver pair of handcuffs with cushions lining the inside. “Here.”

“Why do you have handcuffs?” Yuuri asks quietly.

(He doesn’t receive a response.)

Victor accepts the handcuffs and sets them down in front of him. Then he turns to Yuuri and takes his wrist, thumb rubbing a mindless pattern along the back of it as he whispers again. “Yuuri, can I handcuff myself to you?”

“Um… Christophe, you have a key to those, right?”

He searches through his jacket pocket again, then produces a key. “Yes.”

Yuuri shrugs and nods his consent, Victor clicking on the handcuffs and then putting them on himself. Victor immediately laces their fingers, and Yuuri doesn’t protest. Phichit raises a suggestive eyebrow at Yuuri, which he ignores, and luckily Victor is too drunk to notice it. “Okay, you both have one point. Your turn, Chris.”

Chris takes a dare. “ _Imitate Victor,_ ” he reads out loud. “Oh, this is an easy one.”

“Who wrote that?” Victor asks.

Nobody answers, but Yurio leans over and whispers something to Otabek, who smiles.

Christophe’s impression consists of dramatic sighs, hair touching, and complimenting Yuuri. Victor seems to approve of the act. Yuuri, on the other hand, wants to sink into the frayed hotel room carpet.

“JJ’s turn,” Phichit says.

JJ leans forward, proudly announcing that he’ll also pick a dare. When he reads it, though, his face pales. “ _Make out with someone in the room._  I’m not doing that.”

“I’ll steal!” Victor shouts, staring at Phichit as though his life depends on it. “I’ll steal it. The dare. I’ll steal the dare. Let me steal the dare?”

Everyone looks at him.

“Well, if JJ won’t do it,” Phichit says, shrugging.

Victor sits closer to Yuuri, practically covering him. He rests his cheek on his shoulder. “Yuuri, will you make out with me? Because of the dare?”

“Victor, I…” he starts, squeezing his eyes shut. “That’s…”

“We’re already engaged,” Victor points out, squeezing Yuuri’s hand. “And your lips are so pretty,  _lyubov moya._ ”

Yuuri doesn’t know what that last part means, but given the way that Yurio starts snickering, he figures it’s something equally embarrassing. He lowers his voice, definitely  _not_  wanting to have this conversation in front of all of their mutual friends. “How about you kiss me on the cheek?”

Victor kisses him on the cheek but lingers there, free hand moving to Yuuri’s hair. When he pulls away, he keeps his hand there, stroking it, and Yuuri hopes he doesn’t look as ridiculously flustered as he feels. Given the way that Phichit collapses with laughter, he figures he probably does. “Your turn, Phichit,” Yuuri says, wanting to get the attention off of himself.

“Soft,” Victor compliments through a yawn. “Did you use the hotel shampoo or did you bring your own?”

Yuuri gives Victor a look that blatantly pleads for him to shut up.

Victor leans closer and nuzzles his hair. “You brought your own. Mmm, smells nice, too. You always smell nice. Did you know that?”

“Er, thank you.”

Meanwhile, Phichit reaches into the pile. “ _Tell an embarrassing story about someone._ Oooh, I wrote this one! I have a lot of good stories about Yuuri, hang on, let me think of one.”

“Phichit, did you pull your own dare on purpose?” Yuuri accuses.

“No, of course not,” Phichit hurries to clarify, though he doesn’t sound convincing. “Okay, I’ve got one. Remember that time you made out with a tree?”

“What?” Victor asks, his interest immediately piqued.

Yuuri groans. “Okay, there, you got your point across.”

Phichit smiles. “We were at a party, and after we left the party, there was this tree. A birch, I think? Anyway, it was a nice tree, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t expect Yuuri to go up to it and hold it with both hands and completely—”

Victor is staring at him, jaw-dropped, and Yuuri leaps forward and covers Phichit’s mouth with his hand. “That’s enough, your point was earned. Actually, don’t you think this game has gone on long enough? Maybe it’s time to call it quits.”

“But why?” Phichit protests. “We’re all tied, and not everybody has gone yet.”

“I feel like I’m being targeted,” Yuuri mutters.

It’s Yurio’s turn, then, much to his dismay. He reaches forward and picks a random slip off of the pile, not bothering to discriminate between truths and dares. “ _Compliment someone._ This is stupid. Compliment who?”

“Anyone,” Phichit replies.

“Otabek is cool, I guess,” Yurio mumbles, then tosses the paper behind him. Otabek smiles at him—Yurio doesn’t meet his eyes.

Otabek pulls a dare. “ _Brush someone else’s teeth._  That’s disgusting.”

“I pack a spare travel toothbrush,” Phichit offers. “And I have toothpaste. Ooo, do Yurio’s teeth. Brush Yurio’s teeth.”

Yurio winces. “Absolutely not. That’s weird.”

“Brush mine!” Victor offers, jumping up and then remembering that he’s still chained to Yuuri. “Come on, Yuuri. Otabek is going to brush my teeth.”

“Victor, you’re sort of pulling me around,” Yuuri says, standing up.

“Oo, sorry,” he hums, wrapping him a hug. “Sorry for hurting you. Forgive me?”

Victor lifts him off of his feet slightly, and Yuuri hugs him back, confused but warm. “Um, sure, you’re forgiven.”

Then there’s a hand on the small of Yuuri’s back pushing him towards the bathroom. “Teeth time.”

(It’s perhaps the most awkward thing Yuuri has ever seen in his life.)

(Phichit films the whole thing.)

“My breath is minty now, Yuuri. Want to see?”

“That’s… I believe you,” Yuuri tells him. It’s an answer that Victor appears to be okay with as he contentedly snuggles up against his side again. They’re sitting against the edge of the bed, now, and the formation that had previously been a circle has turned into an awkward oval.

Leo and Guang Hong go, then it’s Yuuri’s turn. “Psst, Yuuri, do a dare,” Victor suggests, shaking his arm lightly.

Yuuri refuses. Then he catches sight of Victor’s pout, which he’s starting to believe should be classified as a military-grade assault weapon. He takes a dare.

Before he can even read it, Victor is poking him on the shoulder. “No, no, pick  _that_  one.”

“Which one?” Yuuri asks.

Victor takes their joint hands and points into the pile. Yuuri still has no idea what slip he’s talking about, so Victor leans forward, placing his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder and picking out a slip before handing it to him.

Yuuri laughs. “You’re trying to get me to pick the one you wrote?”

“No, no, I just have a feeling that it’ll be a good one,” Victor promises, insistent. “Turn it over.”

He takes one look at the contents on the other side of the paper, then tosses it back into the pile without a second thought. “Definitely not doing that one.”

“Yuuri! You have to read it so people can steal!” Phichit complains. “What’d it say?”

“I’m not saying it,” Yuuri groans.

Victor giggles, turning his head into Yuuri’s shoulder, breath hot on his neck. “Do it, do it do it do it do it.”

“I am not stripping,” Yuuri tells him firmly.

If Victor acknowledges his refusal at all, he doesn’t show it. “Yuuri,” he mumbles dreamily, lips pressing against his skin. It sends an involuntary shiver down Yuuri’s spine.

“I think Victor should go to bed,” Yuuri gushes, gently pushing Victor off of him.

“I’ll strip,” Victor says suddenly, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it upwards. “Do you want to see me strip? I’ll steal the dare.”

“Please, please stop talking,” he begs, taking Victor’s hands in his own and trying to pull them back down. “Keep your clothes on.”

Victor stares at him, confused and distraught. “You’ll make out with a tree but you won’t make out with me?  _Yuuri._ That hurts.”

Yuuri swallows, glances around and lowers his voice. “Look, if you want to when you’re sober tomorrow, ask me then.”

There’s an audible, sharp gasp in the air, Victor’s face paling. “Really?”

“Shh,” Yuuri encourages. “No need to—”

“I’m going to kiss Yuuri tomorrow,” Victor announces, cupping his hands around his mouth as a makeshift amplifier.

(Christophe starts clapping. Nobody else does.)

“Okay, time for bed,” Yuuri says, standing up and pulling on the handcuffs. “Come on.”

Victor gets up reluctantly, wrapping his free arm around Yuuri’s torso and holding him close. “I guess we’ll just have to sleep in the same bed.”

“Do you have the keys to the handcuffs?” Yuuri asks Christophe, who tosses the keys to him without question.

“If you take them off you lose your point,” Phichit warns.

“I like them,” Victor adds, swaying Yuuri back and forth gently. “I like you.”

Yuuri shuts his eyes, tries to block out the feeling of Victor’s hands and the sound of his voice. Too distracting. “I’ll still sleep in the same bed as you,” he says, keeping his voice too quiet for the others to hear. “If you really want.”

“You’ll sleep with me?!” Victor exclaims, looking like a child on Christmas.

He winces, and Phichit bursts into laughter. “Way to announce your plans, Yuuri.”

“That’s not what I said,” Yuuri starts, but it’s useless. Yurio looks scandalized. Guang Hong and Leo are falling on top of each other in fits of laughter. Christophe is smiling suggestively. Yuuri sighs and takes Victor’s hand, tugging him out of the room. “Time to go.”

“Bye everyone,” Victor calls over his shoulder.

“Have fun sleeping with Yuuri,” Christophe calls.

Victor hums happily. “I will.”

“Hurry up,” Yuuri urges, shoving him through the door.

~

An hour later, Victor is laughing so hard he’s crying. He clutches the nearest pillow and buries his face in it, turning so that he’s laying flat on his stomach.

Yuuri glances at him from his side of the bed. “What’s so funny?”

“We’re sleeping together,” Victor answers, like it should be obvious.

He can’t help but admit that Victor is ridiculously adorable when drunk. Yuuri shifts closer to him, offering a soft smile. “We are, I guess. Technically.”

Victor abandons his pillow and clings to Yuuri instead, both arms wrapping around him tight. “Mmm. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Yuuri answers quietly, squeezing his shoulder.

A minute later, he’s asleep.

Yuuri watches as Victor cuddles him, gentle breaths parting his lips and his grip now loose. He’s still fully dressed, still smells of alcohol and too much mint toothpaste. It occurs to him that Victor won’t remember half of this in the morning, won’t remember what he’d said or done, but Yuuri doesn’t mind. At least he has tonight.

~

“So we’re making out today, right?” Victor asks casually the following afternoon, hands shoved in his pockets.

Yuuri spits out his water.


	3. Texts From Last Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri texts Victor while drunk, and he and Phichit have to deal with the repercussions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Texts From Last Night](https://actualyuuri.tumblr.com/post/156180108999/omg-can-u-do-a-tfln-babe-im-so-sorry-ur-never)  
>  length: 1k  
> rating: teen+  
> warnings: none  
> summary: Yuuri texts Victor while drunk, and he and Phichit have to deal with the repercussions.

The Earth rotates, yes, but it’s not supposed to rotate quite like this.

There’s a dull throbbing behind his eyes. He presses his palms against it but it won’t go away, won’t weaken. Yuuri rolls onto his side, except he hits something in the process.

Some _one._

(Oh, Phichit.)

Phichit is snoring quietly, curled in on himself. Yuuri leans upwards to get a better look at his face. His hair is sticking up in ever possible direction, his shirt is ridden up to his stomach. What had they been doing last night?

Yuuri sits up and sees bottles. (Oh. That explains it.)

He feels around for his phone. It’s nowhere to be found. How annoying. So he takes Phichit’s from the nightstand in between the beds, which somehow neither of them had ended up laying on, and types in the familiar passcode before calling himself. There’s a buzzing, and upon further inspection, he sees that it’s in Phichit’s side pocket. With extreme dexterity, he manages to slip it out without waking him.

The phone is open on the messages screen. A conversation with Victor is at the top. He clicks on it.

(Victor? Why had he been texting Victor? And at two in the morning?)

 **Yuuri:**  u awake

 **Victor:**  yes, how’s Detroit? ^.^

 **Yuuri:** we need to talk

 **Victor:**??

 **Yuuri:** about us

 **Victor:**  what about us?

Yuuri winces and shuts his eyes. He exhales, trying to keep himself under control. “Phichit.” His friend doesn’t stir. “Phichit, wake up.”

There’s a groan. “Yuuri?”

“Read these.”

Phichit gets up dizzily, rubbing at his temples. “Wow, last night was insane. And read what?”

Yuuri’s heart matches the pounding of his head. “Phichit. I think we messed up.”

“Messed up how?”

 **Victor:**  Yuuri, what about us?

 **Yuuri:**  i had a dream about you the other day

 **Yuuri:** omg phichit sent that, not me

 **Victor:**  … are you drunk

 **Yuuri:**  no

 **Yuuri:**  yes

 **Victor:**  we’ll have this talk when you’re sober

 **Victor:** but not right now

 **Yuuri:** have u ever had a dream about me?

 **Yuuri:** Victor?

 **Yuuri:**  you have read receipts turned on

 **Yuuri:**  answer me rn

 **Yuuri:**  victor

 **Yuuri:**  phichit says if u don’t answer he’s gonna lick a doorknob

 **Yuuri:**  he says he could die

 **Yuuri:**  u really want phichit to die?

 **Victor:** i’m going to bed, text me again in the morning

 **Yuuri:** you’re confusing

 **Yuuri:** sometimes u act like u like me and then sometimes u don’t and i don’t get it and phichit doesn’t get it either

 **Victor:** good night, Yuuri

 **Yuuri:** so which is it then???

 **Yuuri:** if u don’t answer me you’re never laying a hand on me again

 **Victor:**  i’m sorry, but you’re drunk

 **Yuuri:**  you’re just too afraid to talk about it

The conversation stops. Yuuri winces and looks at Phichit. “I’m going to die.”

“I’m sure he didn’t think anything of it,” Phichit tries lamely. “He knows we were drunk.”

“You told him that I dreamt about him,” Yuuri realizes slowly, falling back on the soft carpet and squeezing his eyes shut. Perhaps if he closes them tight enough, he’ll wake up and this will have all been a dream. “And I asked him if he dreams about me. Phichit. This couldn’t possibly be worse.”

“It could’ve been,” Phichit assures him. “You could’ve told him about what was in the dream.”

Yuuri groans. “You’re not making me feel better.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he hurries to add. “Okay, right, well, text him back. Or, better yet, call him. If you want, you can tell him that it was me texting all of that. Blame it all on me. Then it wouldn’t be awkward, right?”

“I am not calling him. I’m never talking to him again. And I’m certainly not going to blame you, because he’d believe that for a total of three seconds.”

Phichit shakes his head. “Not talking to him isn’t the solution. Now text him or something.”

Yuuri sighs and starts typing. Then deletes it. Then tries again. No words feel right. Eventually he settles on some mediocre ones and hits send, regretting it the moment he does.

 **Yuuri:** ummm i’m sorry about last night

He and Phichit stare at the phone. A bubble pops up, indicating that Victor is typing.

 **Victor:** yes

Yuuri frowns. “Yes? What does he mean  _yes?_ ”

“Ask him,” Phichit says.

 **Yuuri:**  ‘yes’ what?

 **Victor:** i have had dreams about you

He drops the phone. Backs away from it.

(No.)

(This can’t be happening.)

Hits a table. The back of his neck. He yelps and rubs at the spot, though his eyes don’t stray from the device on the floor between him and Phichit. Phichit is gaping at him in disbelief, a hand flying up to cover his mouth.

(There must be some reason. Of course there must be some reason. Because Victor Nikiforov doesn’t dream about him. That doesn’t make sense.)

“Do you think he’s drunk?” Yuuri asks.

“No.”

“And you saw that text, too, right?”

Phichit nods. “I saw it.”

“Typo?”

“Not possible.”

“…Phichit.”

Phichit starts smiling. A slow, delighted one. One that Yuuri has seen before. “You know what this means, right?”

The phone buzzes.

They both leap for it.

There’s a struggle, but Yuuri comes out victorious, huddling it close to his chest.

 **Victor:**  you should know, you also have read receipts turned on

“What’d he say?” Phichit asks, turning the phone so he can see it, too. “Oh my god. Yuuri, you have to say something. Tell him about your dream!”

“No, no,” Yuuri mutters.

 **Yuuri:**  are you joking?

 **Victor:** no. do you want me to be?

 **Yuuri:**  no

 **Victor:**  well that’s a relief

 **Yuuri:**  i don’t know what to say

He holds his breath. Another buzz.

 **Victor:**  maybe we could discuss our dreams when you come back from Detroit?

 **Yuuri:**  okay

 **Victor:**  deal?

 **Yuuri:** deal

 **Victor:**  oh, another thing

 **Yuuri:**??

 **Victor:**  phichit posted like five shirtless photos of you on twitter last night

 **Victor:**  10/10


	4. the art of detachment*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri is a sex worker in Detroit and gets a crush on one of his clients.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the art of detachment](https://actualyuuri.tumblr.com/post/155971478879/yuuri-was-a-sex-worker-in-detroit-and-hes-skilled)  
>  length: 4.2k  
> rating: explicit  
> warnings: explicit sex  
> summary: Yuuri is a sex worker in Detroit and gets a crush on one of his clients.

It wasn’t Victor’s idea to hire a sex worker.

(It was, of course, Christophe’s.)

Victor had been feeling down this week, not for any one reason but a conglomeration of a few small ones, notably not being able to land a certain jump, not being able to perfect a certain program, not being sure of what he wants to do with the next season of his career.

He had been considering retirement. Sometimes it feels as though his performances don’t surprise people anymore, sometimes it feels as though he has become boring.

(Christophe disagrees, but notices that he’s upset all the same.)

(Thus, the sex worker.)

Christophe sets it up, gives him a time and place. It’s a restaurant. A small, casual place. Wasn’t that not how these things normally worked? He texts Christophe from underneath the table. There’s nobody here yet.

Christophe replies quickly.  **He’ll be there. You wore white, right?**

Victor smooths out his white shirt.  **Yes, I wore white.**

**Good. Have fun! x**

He sighs and leans back against the chair, wondering if he should leave. This was ridiculous, after all. Victor is absolutely  _not_  the type of person who should be hiring a sex worker. He’s not an unattractive person, in his opinion, and he could probably find a date if he wanted to. So why had Christophe hired someone for him?

Someone enters the restaurant, a handsome man with dark, slick-backed hair. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and jeans that are far, far too tight, and Victor averts his eyes, staring back at the menu. He wonders when and if the sex worker will show up. Surely Christophe hadn’t messed up the details? And Victor isn’t even sure if he wants him to show up or not anymore. Perhaps it’d be better if he didn’t.

As he stares at the menu, someone sits across from him.

Victor looks up.

(Stares, swallows.)

(This… Couldn’t be right. The man he’d seen walk in a minute ago?)

“Are you Victor Nikiforov?”

He nods.

His eyelashes are long and dark against his skin, his lips pink and full. There’s a glint in his eyes—amusement, maybe?—and he smiles at Victor, white teeth flashing. Victor grabs his water glass and takes a long sip, tempted to press the cold glass to his forehead to prevent him from passing out but not doing so because that would probably be awkward, wouldn’t it?

“I’m Yuuri,” he introduces, extending his hand.

His hand.

Victor stares at it stupidly. As if he’s not sure what to do with it.

“Right. Nice to meet you.” He shakes it. Yuuri’s grip is firm.

(He starts to thank Christophe silently, starts to wonder how he had gotten himself such a good friend. Takes back all of his earlier reservations.)

Yuuri licks his lips. “You’re cute.”

“I… You…” Victor stammers, blinking. “Thank you?”

“No—it’s just, you’re by far the cutest client I’ve ever had,” Yuuri tells him.

He feels himself blushing—(blushing, really, genuinely blushing, and why is this man making him blush?)—and ducks his head. “I’m flattered.”

A waiter comes over and takes their order. Victor stutters as he asks for the food, and Yuuri smiles a little bigger, knowing.  _Knowing._  It’s sort of embarrassing, the effect that the other man has on him even though they’ve only known each other for less than five minutes.

“And what do you do, Victor?” he asks, and he says his name in a way that makes Victor melt into the chair, that makes his thoughts turn to lifeless mush.

“I… I’m a figure skater.”

Yuuri gapes. “A figure skater? A competitive one?”

He nods. “I skate for Russia.”

“Oh, I bet you’ve been all over, then,” Yuuri drawls, leaning forward and resting his chin on his palm.

Victor isn’t sure what to do with the attention. Normally, he could talk for ages about his career, normally he might even brag, but Yuuri… “Just flew here from Barcelona, actually.”

“Barcelona?” Yuuri asks. “Was there a competition there?”

“The Grand Prix,” he explains.

He bites his lip. Victor starts praying. That lip. That lip is… “Who won?”

“I-I did.”

“You did? You’re a gold medal winner?” Yuuri asks, delighted. “Wow, you must be famous.”

He shrugs. “Sort of.”

And then it happens.

A foot on his ankle.

Victor thinks he’s imagining at first, but then realizes he can’t be. There’s a tablecloth covering it, but Yuuri is definitely, definitely touching his ankle. He can’t breathe, isn’t sure how to move. Glances around the restaurant. Yuuri looks completely casual, just smiling at him brightly.

“And why did your friend call me?” he asks, and his foot moves up.

“Well he—” His voice comes out high-pitched. Yuuri chuckles. He clears his throat and tries again. “I wasn’t having a good week.”

Yuuri pouts, foot moving higher, towards his knee. “A gold medal winning figure skater wasn’t having a good week? Why not?”

“Just… wasn’t,” he answers lamely. “Er, do you take all of your clients to dinner?”

“Do you really want to be talking about my other clients right now?”

Victor shakes his head.

Yuuri laughs—it’s adorable and sexy and Victor has never wanted anything or anyone more in his life. “Now, do you have a hotel, or do you live here?”

“I… I have a hotel. I’m just visiting some friends here, I live in St. Petersburg.”

The man across from him hums, nodding. “Okay, which hotel?”

Victor thinks that trying to remember the name of his hotel right now would completely fry his brain given what little capacity is left, so he just makes an awkward gesture with his hand. “The one just down the street.”

“Oooh, okay, that’s a nice one,” Yuuri compliments. “We’ll go back there after this, okay?”

He nods, mind completely having abandoned his body.

Yuuri moves his foot to his other ankle, teasing. Victor shivers involuntarily, and the man narrows his eyebrows. “Now what do you want from me, Victor?”

“What do I… What do… What?”

“What do you like?” he asks simply.

 _You_  is the first word that pops into his mind. He blinks. “I… I don’t understand.”

“What kind of sex?”

“There are different kinds?”

Apparently, that was funny, because Yuuri smiles, reaches across the table and takes his hand, playing with his fingers. “Are you new to this?”

Victor glances around the restaurant, swallows thickly. “Is it obvious?”

“A little. Now I just need to know what you want to do tonight. We can either keep it simple or do something more…” Yuuri shrugs, leaving the rest to the imagination.

He gapes. “I… I don’t… Either?”

“Either?” Yuuri asks, surprised. “Okay, well, we can sort that out.”

Their food arrives.

Victor eats quickly.

Yuuri does, too.

They split the check.

And then they’re walking down the streets of Detroit, and Victor’s hands are shaking, because the man next to him is smiling at him, bumping his shoulder with his own playfully, and just a minute ago his foot had been on Victor’s ankle, and Victor was  _not_ mentally prepared for this tonight.

“Are you nervous?” Yuuri asks him, concerned.

Victor takes a moment to hear him. “Can you tell?”

He hums as they step into the hotel, making their way to the elevator. “I’m guessing this is your first time.”

He doesn’t really want to admit that, but also can’t see a point in lying. Victor nods.

The elevator doors shut and Yuuri places a hand on his bicep, tracing his finger down it. Victor watches, mesmerized. “I’m honored, then,” he tells him, looking up, and there are those eyelashes again, and Victor’s heart skips a beat in his chest.

And then Yuuri exits the elevator.

Victor stands there, staring after him, remembering the feeling of his hand on his arm. “Aren’t you coming?” Yuuri asks.

He hurries after him before the doors can close, taking his keycard out of his pocket and opening the door to his suite. It’s large, the bed against the left wall and the bathroom door on the right. Full-length windows look out over the city. Yuuri steps inside and walks over to the windows, looking out.

Victor stands there awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

“Pretty view,” he comments, turning back around, pausing when he sees Victor. “Oh, you need to relax. Come here.”

He walks up to Yuuri, and the man leads him to a couch, gesturing for him to sit down. He does. Stares up at him, wide-eyed.

“You  _do_  want me, right?” Yuuri asks, cocking his head to the side.

Victor nods. Has never been more sure of anything in his life, really.

The man smiles at that. “Good. So here’s how this will work.” He reaches up a hand and brushes some of Victor’s hair out of his eyes. Victor parts his lips. “Go take a shower, and when you come back, I’ll be waiting for you, okay?”

Victor stares, confused. “Shower?”

“Proper procedure,” he explains. “Besides, it might help to relax you, because you’re going to want to be relaxed.” His hand drifts down to his chin, nails scraping delicately across it. “You really are cute, by the way. I’m going to have to start watching figure skating.”

His eyes dart down to Yuuri’s lips. Then, he can’t tear them away, no matter how hard he tries. The other man laughs, and Victor remembers what he had said, so he stands up and heads to the shower, grabbing a new set of clothes, first.

He showers. Wonders about the man currently waiting in his hotel room.

Puts on a fresh pair of jeans and a grey shirt. Simple. Looks in the mirror. Tries to compose himself.

(The effort fails miserably.)

He steps outside, hands shoved in his pockets, and glances around. Yuuri is sitting on the couch, television on and the remote in his hand.

(Well, that hadn’t been what Victor was expecting, though he’s not sure what he  _had_ been expecting.)

Yuuri turns around when he hears him, smiling. Victor comes over to the couch and sits beside him, tugging on the collar of his shirt. “What are you watching?” he asks, glancing at the television.

“Oh, I don’t know, just flipping,” he responds, glancing him over, gaze unashamedly latching to his lips. He turns off the TV.

Yuuri places a hand on his chest, drifts it down to his navel, then to the hem of the shirt, then lifts the fabric up, testing. Victor watches, unwavering, as Yuuri slips his hand up the shirt, fingers splaying against his skin. His hand is cold—ice cold. Then he leans forward, and Victor meets him halfway, kissing him gently.

He tastes of mint, lips pliant and warm, opening underneath Victor’s. Yuuri’s tongue meets his and Victor moans, to both of their surprises, and shifts closer to him, reaching for Yuuri’s own shirt and tugging it upwards. Yuuri lifts up his arms and then the shirt is gone, one less layer between them.

“Straight to the point, then?” he asks, teasing, and kisses his way down his jaw and to his neck, sucking on his pulse point.

Victor leans his head back, eyes half-lidded with bliss, one hand on Yuuri’s arm and the other gripping the couch. He wonders why he hadn’t done this ages ago, wonders why he doesn’t live in Detroit instead of St. Petersburg.

Yuuri nips at the same spot and he groans, hips shifting of their own accord. “You liked that?” he suggests, doing it again. Victor has the same reaction, but bites back the noise, eyes fully shut now. He’s already hard, Yuuri’s hands working their way up and down his chest, finally taking off his shirt.

They kiss again, and this time Victor takes more control, pushing him against the couch cushions and straddling his legs with his own, teeth clashing and his fingers coming up to weave through Yuuri’s hair. It’s soft, long.

Yuuri places a hand on his thigh and he pauses, gasping, eyes rolling back in his head as it moves upwards. It goes up, then back down, a small, stroking motion. Victor arches his hips forward, desperate, and ducks his head into the other man’s shoulder. “Please.”

Yuuri unzips his jeans with his other hand, tugging them down by the waistband. Victor wiggles out of them, the position on the couch awkward, and then they’re on the floor. “Let’s take this to the bed,” Yuuri suggests, cupping his cheek with one hand.

The bed is softer, more comfortable, and Yuuri pushes Victor down so that he’s on the bottom, the black-haired man smiling down at him, playful. He reaches down a hand and Victor moans when he cups him through his boxers, thrusting upwards, needy. “Please, please.”

“Please what?” Yuuri asks, kissing his neck, working his way down to his nipple and circling it, one of his hands weaving through his hair, tugging on it. Victor’s breaths come quicker, heart thumping in his chest.

“I need…” he starts, voice trailing off.

Yuuri continues to palm him as he kisses downwards, circling his navel, now. “Would you like me to suck you off?” he asks against his skin.

Victor groans at the thought.

“Or… Would you like to fuck?”

(Both?)

(They both sound like excellent ideas.)

He bites his lips, still arching into his hand. “Could you… Could…”

“You’re hard,” Yuuri mumbles appreciatively, pressing his hand harder, getting a better feel for him. Victor bites back another moan, squirms underneath him. Then the hand is gone, and Yuuri hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down. “And long, too.”

“Please,” Victor repeats uselessly.

Yuuri puts his hand on him again, stroking up and down his length, and Victor collapses against the bed, a slow whimper escaping him, his hand reaching down unconsciously to help. The man on top laughs a little, kisses his abdomen, works his way downwards. “If you ever don’t like anything, tell me, okay?”

Victor nods desperately.

Yuuri puts his mouth on him, and Victor cries out, hands fisting in the bedsheets. He’d never thought he would be vocal during anything like this, but…

“God, you’re hot,” Yuuri mumbles after pulling off of him with a pop. Victor whines at the loss but then he’s back, starting a slow rhythm, taking him in deep and then moving away once again, Victor desperately trying to keep his hips locked down on the bed.

It’s sensational—Yuuri looks unbelievable on top of him like that, some of his hair falling in front of his eyes, now, as he focuses, cheeks hollowing. “I’m going to…”

He adds a hand at his base, stroking. Keeps sucking, harder, now. Victor isn’t sure he can take it, his entire body threatening to stop functioning if Yuuri keeps this up. After a minute, he comes, Yuuri swallowing all of it, sucking him off as he rides his high, still stroking with one hand and gripping his knee with the other.

Victor collapses on the bed, breaths still coming fast, and after a moment Yuuri is beside him, licking his lips. Victor watches, shocked.

“Did you like it?” Yuuri asks, touching his chest, fingers drifting across it.

He nods, then leans forward and kisses him, unable to help it. Their tongues clash again, and Victor rolls on top of him, exhausted but still turned on, tugging on the other man’s jeans. “Off,” he pleads.

Yuuri unzips them and wiggles out of them, Victor’s hands immediately moving to his cock, hard underneath his boxer briefs. The man underneath him gasps a little at the touch, lips parting deliciously, and Victor takes advantage, taking his bottom lip in between his teeth. Yuuri arches his hips upwards, and Victor takes off the boxer briefs, tossing them off of the bed.

He’s long, too, and Victor touches him experimentally, fingers drifting up his length. Yuuri shivers and groans, the noise low and arousing. His hand moves to Victor’s ass, squeezing it. “Now what would you like?”

“Fuck me, please,” Victor begs, the words not sounding real coming out of his own mouth, like an out-of-body experience.

Yuuri kisses him. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Turn over.”

Victor rolls off of him and turns over, back exposed to the cold hotel room air. Yuuri runs a finger down his spine, humming, and he sighs gently. Then Yuuri is fumbling with something, and then there’s a finger at his entrance, wet. Victor arches his hips backwards, desperate.

“Are you ready?” he asks, kissing his neck. Victor can feel his cock hard against the back of his thigh.

“Yes, yes,” he mumbles incoherently. Yuuri pushes a finger into him and he moans into the sheets. Then a second finger. He’s tight, but it only makes the sensation better, and he arches back against Yuuri’s fingers and cock.

Yuuri hums, adding a third. “Does it feel good?”

“Oh my god,” he answers.

He starts a slow rhythm with his fingers, moving them in and out, spreading them, arching them. Victor’s body is enslaved, his cock twitching with every movement, hips moving of their own accord, mouth making noises he hadn’t even thought were possible.

“Please, please fuck me,” he begs, tears stinging his eyes.

Yuuri listens, lining himself up at Victor’s entrance. He slips his fingers out and Victor whines at the loss. He hears Yuuri put on a condom, rolling it onto himself, and then he enters him, hands gripping Victor’s sides, nails digging into his skin. Victor grabs at the bedsheets, desperate, and arches against him, the sensation too good, but too slow.

“Faster, faster, please. Harder, oh my god, harder.”

When Yuuri is in all the way, light explodes behind Victor’s eyes, a sharp gasp escaping him. “G-spot,” Yuuri explains, kissing him. “You’re so tight, Victor, so tight for me.”

Yuuri’s rhythm gets faster, harder, and he’s gasping for breath as he comes a minute later. He pulls out and slips the condom off of himself, depositing in the waste basket beside the nightstand. Then, he collapses next to Victor, fixing his hair and smiling brightly at him.

“You’re… very good at your job.”

Yuuri laughs and touches his hair. “Thank you. You were good, too.”

Victor smiles sleepily, kissing him again, tongue and teeth. Yuuri kisses him back, arm gripping his bicep. His mouth is hot, and Victor can’t get enough, never wants to stop. But Yuuri pulls away for breath, trailing his hand down his arm, the touch innocent yet provocative. His other hand is still in his hair, drifting through it. His nails scrape across Victor’s scalp and he hums, leaning his head back.

“I’m going to go clean up, but I’ll be right back, okay?” Yuuri tells him, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Victor nods, exhausted.

After a few minutes, the other man comes back, and wraps an arm around his torso so that they’re cuddling, his lips pressing against Victor’s neck. “Is this okay?” he asks.

His hand touches Victor’s hair again, and he leans into it instinctively. “Yes, it’s okay.”

His eyelids are heavy, and he lets his eyes fall shut, the pull of sleep combined with the comforting gesture too much to resist. He falls asleep with his back against Yuuri’s chest, hair being played with, hips aching in the best possible way.

~

Yuuri has a problem.

He texts Phichit, because Phichit always knows what to do.

**I need help.**

Phichit texts back immediately. **Let me guess, he’s cute?**

 **So cute.**  He stares at Victor’s sleeping form beside him, his silver hair, his smooth, soft skin. Remembers his adorable nervousness. Yuuri had Googled him first thing in the morning, read up on the mysterious figure skater, and everything he had read had only made him more attractive, which was annoying. He had sort of been hoping that he’d be some obnoxious loser so that Yuuri could have a reason to not like him.

**This always happens.**

Yuuri sighs and buries his face in the pillow.  **No, you don’t understand. This one is _really_  cute. Really, really cute. A different sort of cute.**

**I’m going to need evidence.**

He smiles.  **Doesn’t that ruin client confidentiality?**

Phichit types something, then deletes it, then tries again.  **Yuuri, we’re both sex workers, it doesn’t break the honor code if it’s among ourselves.**

**Look up Victor Nikiforov.**

There’s a pause.

Then he replies.  **Okay, so you’re not wrong. And he’s nice?**

 **He seems nice.** Yuuri looks at him again regretfully.  **I think I like him.**

**You’re _way_  too emotional for this job.**

**What do I do?**

He can practically see Phichit’s eye roll.  **Ask him out, if he’s nice. He might say yes.**

Yuuri blinks.  **Ask him out?? Seriously?**

**Well, what else would you do? You know I always say you need to stop getting emotionally invested in your clients, but if this one is special, then go ahead.**

He bites his lip.  **What would I say??**

**Yuuri, I’m assuming you just had sex with the guy, probably gave him the best night of his life, and now you’re too scared to ask him to have a drink with you?**

**Yes.**

**Just do it. Now I’ve gotta go, good luck. I believe in you.**

Yuuri stares at the last text and sighs, unsure of what to do. He rubs at his forehead. One of Victor’s arms is around him, so he doesn’t get up, not wanting to rouse him. Instead he just keeps scrolling through his Wikipedia page. Apparently, the man beside him had won the Grand Prix Final five years in a row. Very famous, then.

Eventually, though, Victor yawns and rolls over on top of him, freezing as soon as his other arm touches Yuuri. His eyes blink open, and he’s confused for a second—a look that Yuuri has seen on many, many clients before—until he remembers what had happened. “Oh, hello,” he says, smiling.

Yuuri smiles back. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. Um, do you want breakfast?”

He stretches out his arms. “Do you want me to stay for breakfast? Or would you rather I leave?”

“No, you can stay for breakfast. That is, if you want.”

“That’d be nice.”

There’s a pause as Victor looks at him, blushing. “What?” Yuuri asks, touching his shoulder. His muscles are firm—his entire body is great, really. Not to mention how adorable he is when he blushes. Yuuri just wishes his internal reaction to Victor could match his calm, collected external reaction.

“I… It’s just, I don’t have any clothes on,” Victor reminds him.

Yuuri leans back on his elbows, raises an eyebrow. “So?”

The other man blushes, stands up, and Yuuri whistles teasingly. Victor laughs and grabs his boxers from the night before, pulling them on. He makes his way to the kitchen, and Yuuri follows after him, putting on his boxer briefs first.

Victor makes them eggs. It’s a bit awkward, sitting at the kitchen counter with a client, but he can’t say this is the first time it has happened. Besides, he ends up talking with Victor about figure skating, and the other man seems genuinely interested in discussing his career, explaining the basic rules and setup of competitions. So he’s interesting  _and_  sexy. Just one tick on the list after another.

After a while, though, Yuuri glances at the clock and bites his lip. It’s already noon, and he’s supposed to meet Phichit and Leo at one. “I should probably get going,” he tells Victor.

Victor looks slightly disappointed, but smiles at him all the same. “Right, of course. Sorry for keeping you.”

“No, the eggs were delicious,” Yuuri promises.

He grabs his clothes. Heads for the door. Christophe, Victor’s friend, had already paid him, so…

“Bye, then?” Victor says, standing by the door in his boxers and a t-shirt, his hair adorably messy and small hickeys coating his neck. Yuuri licks his lips unconsciously at the sight, then meets his eyes.

He leaves. Makes it down the hallway. Turns the corner.

Pauses.

Turns around.

(Because he has to.)

Knocks on the door. Holds his breath.

Victor opens it, surprised.

“I don’t say this to any clients,” he starts.

Victor blinks. “Say what?”

“Would you… Would you want to get coffee sometime? Or see a movie? Or something?” He winces in anticipation. If he’s rejected, it’s fine. He’ll just suck up his pride and move on. Expect he has never liked a client like he has liked Victor, so the little spark of hope remains in his thoughts, is nurtured.

“Yes,” Victor answers.

“I mean, like, off the books.”

“So do I,” Victor confirms, grinning. “Hang on, let me get a pen.”

He writes down his phone number on Victor’s hand, can’t stop smiling at him. He’s endearing. Possibly the most attractive person Yuuri has ever seen in his life. “I’ll see you, then?” he asks, blushing.

Victor runs a hand through his hair, laughs nervously. “See you.”

The moment he’s in the hallway, he texts Phichit.  **He said yes!!**

~

Christophe comes over to Victor’s hotel room later that day. “How’d it go with Yuuri?” he asks, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Victor glances at his hand, sees the numbers that he had already memorized without meaning to. The numbers that he may or may not have been staring at since Yuuri left.

“Oh, that? It went well.”


	5. Unconditional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their love is unconditional but sometimes Victor needs a reminder of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Unconditional](https://actualyuuri.tumblr.com/post/158617756464/so-we-all-know-how-victor-was-depressed-prior-to)  
>  length: 1.1k  
> rating: all ages  
> warnings: panic attacks, depression  
> summary: Their love is unconditional but sometimes Victor needs a reminder of that.

It’s normal, Mila tells Yuuri, to have arguments in a relationship.

He watches Victor from across the rink, where he’s practicing his quad flip over and over again, hardly looking up from the ice, posture stiffer than it should be. He falls, at some point, and a few people race over to help him, but his glare scares them away. They’d had arguments before, but never arguments like this.

(It hurts, but he knows it’ll work out. Knows that it has to.)

Victor leaves the rink early that day. Yuuri leaves late, figures that Victor needs some space. The argument, which had been over whether or not Yuuri would retire this upcoming season, hadn’t necessarily involved either of them being at fault. It was a lack of communication more than it was a genuine argument–heated emotions on both sides and the underlying need to just have a long, decent discussion.

He comes home and sets his duffel bag down by the front door, toeing off his shoes. He’s not sure whether or not he should slip in bed beside Victor, or whether Victor will be in bed at all. He’d grabbed a quick dinner with Georgi and Mila and figures that Victor must’ve eaten by now, too.

Carefully, he steps into the doorway of their bedroom. The bed is empty.

(The couch, then, perhaps?)

Victor isn’t there, either.

So maybe he hadn’t come home, maybe he’s with someone.

Except Yuuri hears Makkachin crying outside of the bathroom door. He steps closer to it, notices that there’s light peeking out from underneath. “Victor?”

There’s no response, so Yuuri creaks open the door. And Victor, he’s…

His arms are wrapped around his knees, his hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat and he’s huddled beside the toilet in the corner. When he looks up at Yuuri, he’s squinting, as though the light is flooding his eyes. There are fresh tears glistening on his cheeks and a look of pure heartbreak painted across his features, of a pain so real it could cut like a knife.

“Yuuri?” he whispers, and his voice cracks.

“Oh, Victor,” Yuuri breathes, and hurries over to him, taking Victor into his arms. He leans against the bathtub and, for a second, Victor doesn’t move. His posture stiffens, like it had at the rink, nothing but a quiet tremble and his appearance giving away the cracks in his outer shell.

(Then, like a dam, he breaks.)

Victor buries his face in Yuuri’s stomach and clutches his arms, sinking into his lap like wax dripping down the side of a candle. His body is wracked with sobs and Yuuri isn’t sure what to do but hold him, stroking his hair with one hand and noting the sticky, feverish feeling of his forehead. “Victor,” he repeats, softer this time. “Victor, what happened?”

He wheezes in lieu of an answer, and Yuuri has never seen him like this–never. No matter how bad the fight got, no matter how bad the situations around them got. No, Victor is always the confident one, always the one bravely diving headfirst into scenarios and taking the lead. But now? Like this?

“What happened?” he whispers, and Victor clutches his shirt, now, bunching his fists in it.

“I’m sorry,” he manages in between heavy, unnatural breaths. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, Victor,” Yuuri pleads, his own voice breaking as his heart shatters in his chest. “What happened, Vitya? Please talk to me. Did something happen?”

Victor only sobs harder, and Makkachin whimpers at them with concern, nudging Victor’s leg with his nose. “I’m sorry,” he tells him again, and more muffled syllables start to spill from his lips, different variations of apologies.

“What are you sorry for?”

“Please don’t leave me,” he whispers, and then he clutches him harder, squeezes him, like Yuuri is going to try and stand. “Please. Please, please don’t leave me. I don’t know what I’d… Please…”

“Victor…”

“All I’ve been–All I’ve been able to think about,” he stammers. “I’m sorry.”

Yuuri rubs his back soothingly. “I’m not leaving you. I’m never leaving you.”

“Never?” Victor whispers, and for the first time he looks up, meets his eyes. There are red lines converging on the crystalline blue of his irises. “What if I… What if I’m…” he starts, and his eyes are searching, now, flickering back and forth between Yuuri’s with desperation. “What if…”

“Never,” he repeats, more firmly this time. “Listen to me:  _never._ ”

“Never,” Victor says, with amazement. “Never. Never, never…”

“Never.”

“You changed my life,” he tells him, and holds his gaze, even while hot, fresh tears fall down his cheeks. “I don’t… I need to tell you…”

Yuuri offers a reassuring nod. “What do you need to tell me?”

“You breathed life into me,” he whispers, and the words are heavy, hang in the air. “I was empty and you breathed  _life_  into me and I don’t want to be empty again, I don’t want to live without you again, I don’t want to sit alone at dinner and I don’t want to sleep in a big bed all alone and I don’t… I don’t… I…” He trails off into more sobs and Yuuri holds him even closer, lifting him up with a hand underneath his knees and another supporting his shoulders.

He carries Victor to bed and sets him down underneath the sheets, slipping in beside him and holding him close. Victor buries his face in his shoulder and continues sobbing, quieter now, more reserved. “You don’t have to live without me. I never knew… You never told me. That you worried about that.”

“It’s all I worry about,” he admits, almost coherent, now. “One day you’ll… You’ll wake up and you’ll realize… Or… Or I’ll…”

“Victor,” Yuuri says again, sharply. “Never. Remember? Never.”

“Never,” he sighs, clinging to him. “Never never never.”

“That’s right. Just because we fight doesn’t mean I won’t love you anymore. Nothing you could say or do could make me not love you anymore, okay? Just because I’m mad at you, or you’re mad at me, that doesn’t change that. Never is still never, even if there are bumps in the road.”

His voice cracks. “Yuuri, how can I ever deserve you?”

When the tears come back, Yuuri is there, kissing his hairline. “It isn’t about deserving, either. Please, Vitya, you have to believe me.  _Never._ ”

“Never. I’m sorry that you had to see me–”

“I don’t even want to hear that,” Yuuri interrupts, kissing him again. “You don’t have to pretend not to have emotions around me. I like it when you share with me. Messy or not messy. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees, and shuts his eyes. “Okay, Yuuri. I love you.”

“And I love you. Unconditionally.”


	6. The Death of a Bachelor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor's first routine when he returns to skating is a bit over the top, but Yuuri loves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Death of a Bachelor](https://actualyuuri.tumblr.com/post/155974400979/for-the-prompt-if-you-still-want-some-victor-goes)  
>  length: 800 words  
> rating: all ages  
> warnings: none  
> summary: Victor's first routine when he returns to skating is a bit over the top, but Yuuri loves it.

“Your theme for this season is… Engagement?”

Victor tilts his head to the side. “What’s wrong with that?”

Yakov pinches the bridge of his nose. “Nothing, Vitya, but we already have one lovesick performer here.”

“Who, Yuuri?” Victor asks hopefully.

“No,” his coach sighs, glancing over towards the corner of the rink, where Georgi is currently practicing his latest routine about newfound love.

“I’ll choreograph something, and then show you, okay? Trust me, it’ll be great.”

Yakov doesn’t have time to respond before Victor has darted away. That boy certainly acts different with Yuuri around. He’s happier, yes—but also much more painful. Listens less. Not that he ever listened much in the first place. Tries to be both a coach and a student. It’s ridiculous.

~

“What’s your theme for this season going to be, Victor?” Yuuri asks him one day as they sit together on the couch, a television show neither of them have truly been paying attention to blaring on the screen in front of them.

“It’s a surprise.”

Yuuri frowns, adorably confused. “A surprise?”

“You’ll see,” he promises, Makkachin jumping up and laying down across his lap.

~

He makes sure to only skate the routines when Yuuri isn’t around. Which is difficult, of course, but he figures it’ll be worth it. Yakov had approved of them, because, of course, Victor is a great choreographer.

And Yuuri asks him incessantly about why he’s hiding his routines, about what his theme is going to be, about why he’s keeping secrets. Victor just dodges around the topic, focusing instead on Yuuri’s own routines, on his own strategies. It’s definitely an odd dynamic, striving to win while also striving to help Yuuri win, but it comes with surprising ease.

Victor is scheduled to skate at Rostelecom—Yuuri isn’t, but he comes to support him anyway.

“I finally get to watch your routine?” Yuuri asks, fixing his costume for him.

“Finally,” Victor agrees, taking his hand and touching his ring, spinning it. He’s not nervous to be skating again, but it’s as though his body disagrees with his mind, his hands trembling ever so slightly. The rings help, though, calm him a little.

Yuuri smiles at him. “You’re going to do great.”

“Thanks,” he says, hugging him tight.

He had already announced his theme earlier that day, of course, but he had managed to keep Yuuri away from the television and gossip. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d told Yakov and the others that he wanted it to be a surprise, and they had helped, too.

Yuuri’s voice is muffled against his shoulder. “Good luck, Victor.”

And then he’s on the ice.

(It’s familiar yet unfamiliar—he has changed so much since his last performance. As a person, as a skater. More specifically, Yuuri had changed him: the way he sees the world, the way he sees his routines, his career.)

~

“Is that song…”

“Death of a Bachelor,” Yakov confirms from beside him.

Yuuri gapes, watching the performance. Every jump is flawless. Every step sequence perfectly coordinated, perfectly fitting to the song. “But… We’re not even married yet,” he points out.

Yakov shrugs. “His theme is engagement.”

“Engagement?!”

The Russian coach watches his student carefully, eyes fixated. “Hmph. His free leg is sloppy.”

“Victor made his theme engagement,” Yuuri repeats quietly, folding his arms across his chest, because people are staring at him, waiting for his reaction. Even some members of the audience had chosen to watch him instead of Victor, smiling as though it’s the most romantic gesture in the world.

(Which it probably is.)

(But Yuuri just blushes, watches the performance.)

Victor’s ending pose is facing him, his hand on his heart and his breathing coming quick, knees bent slightly. Yuuri stares in shock as he comes over and hugs him across the wall. “Well? What did you think?”

“I don’t… I don’t really know what to say.”

“You liked it?” he asks hopefully, taking Yuuri’s hand and kissing his ring. There’s a loud ‘aww’ from the audience and Yuuri blushes harder, ducking his head with embarrassment.

But then he focuses on the man in front of him, tries to block out the crowds, the sounds. And he sees Victor’s look of concern, of longing. Yuuri realizes how much thought he’d put into this, how long he had probably been waiting for this moment.

“I loved it. I really, really loved it.”

Victor grins, delighted. “I’m glad that—”

Yuuri kisses him.

(It’s light, swift, and Victor stares wide-eyed.)

“Yuuri…”

“That was the only thing I could think of to surprise you more than you surprised me,” he jokes, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

Victor laughs and kisses him again, pulling him closer.

Then, after a moment, Yakov clears his throat. “Vitya, you need to get off of the ice at some point. Are you even listening to me?”


	7. to be or not to be (gay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor doesn’t like seeing his flatmate, Yuuri, with other guys, and he can’t figure out why. Could it be that he’s homophobic? Or is it something else entirely?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [to be or not to be (gay)](https://actualyuuri.tumblr.com/post/156688456174/to-be-or-not-to-be-gay)  
>  length: 4.6k  
> rating: teen+  
> warnings: mentions of homophobia  
> summary: Victor doesn’t like seeing his flatmate, Yuuri, with other guys, and he can’t figure out why. Could it be that he’s homophobic? Or is it something else entirely?
> 
> based off of [this article](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.gaystarnews.com%2Farticle%2Fstraight-guy-worries-hes-homophobic-gay-roommate-ends-falling-love%2F%23gs.null&t=YjI3MGI5OGZiMzJmMzc2OGVkOWU1NTBlYWVlYmE4MjFhMzFjMGMxOSxhRXpiTWcxNw%3D%3D&b=t%3AGLDJ-E1cF8l7h8gP0G4vFA&p=https%3A%2F%2Factualyuuri.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F156688456174%2Fto-be-or-not-to-be-gay&m=1)

Yuuri is a good flatmate.

(In fact, Victor sometimes wonders how he’d gotten so lucky.)

He’s neat, friendly, cooks sometimes. He offers to make Victor tea in the mornings, isn’t the type of person who keep throwing bottles in the recycling bin until it turns into a game of Jenga. He laughs at Victor’s jokes—even if they’re not very funny, always pays his half of the rent on time, is willing to try new shows on Netflix with him.

And he happens to be bisexual.

Which Victor is fine with.

Obviously.

(Obviously.)

Until he comes home early from work one day and hears Yuuri laughing in his bedroom.

He must have a friend over. Probably Phichit.

Except…

It’s not Phichit’s voice.

Which is odd, because while Yuuri does have other friends, the only person he typically brings around the flat is Phichit. Maybe it’s Leo? Or Guang Hong?

And then the door opens, and Yuuri steps out, still laughing, and there’s an arm around his shoulders. A guy’s arm. A guy Victor doesn’t recognize. A guy who is smiling at Yuuri like he’s the light of his life. He has short, brown hair, and he’s tall—taller than Yuuri and even taller than Victor, which makes him angry for some reason, and he has blue eyes. Like Victor’s. Except duller, of course.

Their flat is small, the main kitchen is connected to the living room and then there’s a short hallway with two bedroom doors. They share a bathroom that branches off of the left side of the hallway. Victor stands in the kitchen, eyes drawn directly to the man beside Yuuri. He watches as Yuuri’s smile fades, and then the stranger catches sight of Victor, and his smile fades, too.

Good.

“Hi,” Yuuri greets.

Victor doesn’t look at him. Remains focused on the stranger. “Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

The man shifts uncomfortably, and his grip around Yuuri tightens a little. “I’m James.”

“James,” Victor repeats.

Not even an attractive name, really. Yuuri and James. James and Yuuri. There’s no ring to that, no chime to it. The three words don’t feel as though they work well together. Interesting.

And then…

A mark on Yuuri’s neck.

Small, barely visible, a light tint of red, but there’s no doubt in Victor’s mind that it’s there. It’s not a figment of his imagination. He meets Yuuri’s eyes, and his flatmate looks confused, cocking his head to the side.

“I should get going,” James says suddenly.

Yuuri turns to him and offers a small smile.

Which isn’t okay.

Isn’t okay in any way, shape, or form.

And then kisses him.

(Victor has never been one to be affected by PDA.)

(Couples on the street never bother him. Kissing never bothers him. He has always been the type of person who could talk about sex with a total stranger without batting an eyelash, not that he makes a habit of doing that.)

(But this?)

(This is disgusting. Revolting. Makes him sick to his stomach.)

Then James walks away, and with every inch of distance between him and Yuuri, Victor can breathe just a little bit easier. The door shuts behind him, and Yuuri stares after it, lips pursed. “What was that about?” he asks.

Victor frowns. “What was what about?”

Instead of an answer, Yuuri just sighs and runs a hand through his hair, except the angle of his head gives Victor an even better view of the hickey—the sight sends a shiver down his spine—and he feels sick all over again. He wonders if Yuuri had enjoyed getting the hickey, or if he’d just consented because James had wanted to kiss his neck. Wonders if Yuuri enjoys neck kisses, anyway. Probably not. At least, not from James. Because why would he? The guy certainly wasn’t that attractive, and Yuuri could do better, obviously.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Victor questions, because part of him has to know, has to know. Has this has been going on for a while? Does all of this mean that Yuuri has been seeing someone for days, weeks, months? Bringing somebody around to Victor’s home when he’s not around?

Yuuri blinks. “What? No, we’re… He’s… I mean, I don’t know.”

Victor swallows. “You don’t know? How could you not know?”

“You’re acting weird,” Yuuri mutters, turning and walking away.

“Wait.”

When Yuuri swivels back around to face him, Victor sees the hickey again, and winces. Visibly winces. He can’t help it. The very idea of it… The sight of it… Like nails on a chalkboard. Like the sound of a squeaky mechanical pencil. Like a dry erase marker on paper.

Then Yuuri walks away.

“Wait,” he calls again, but this time his flatmate doesn’t stop walking, enters his bedroom and shuts the door. The lock clicks.

(Yuuri never locks his door.)

(Yuuri never gets mad at him.)

(Yuuri never walks away from him like that.)

Victor buries his face in his hands and sits down on a kitchen stool.

~

An hour later, he knocks on Yuuri’s door. Has an apology prepared to the very last syllable. He waits, rocking back on his heels and adjusting his hair. He really, really doesn’t want to fight with Yuuri. No matter how much his hickey disgusts him, fighting with him is the last thing he wants in the world.

Because, as had been previously stated, Yuuri is a good flatmate.

And a good friend.

The best of both worlds.

When Yuuri opens the door to his room, he looks expectant, one hand clutching the edge of the door and the other by his side, stuffed into his pocket. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry,” Victor blurts. “I don’t know why I acted like that. I think I was just surprised, I didn’t know that you… I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “It’s okay. If it bothers you that I have people over when you’re not here for some reason, I could always text you beforehand—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he assures him. “I’m just really sorry.”

Yuuri offers a shy smile and touches Victor’s arm, squeezing it. “It’s fine, seriously. You’re already forgiven. Just don’t do that again, okay?”

“Of course.”

~

They watch a movie later that night.

The King and the Skater, because apparently the fact that Victor hasn’t seen it before is a sin and he needs to drop everything he’s doing to try and make up for so many deprived years. It’s Phichit’s favorite movie, too, according to Yuuri, and Yuuri asks Phichit if he wants to come but he says no.

(Why does that make Victor happy?)

(Phichit saying no?)

(The thing is, Victor likes Phichit. He’s a nice guy, outgoing, very close to Yuuri.)

(But as he sits on the couch beside his flatmate, a blanket draped across both of their laps, he’s happy that Phichit isn’t here.)

Odd. He stores that thought away for future contemplation.

He glances at Yuuri’s neck. The hickey is already almost faded, thank god.

Victor shifts closer to him, yawning. It’s not late, yet, but he’d eaten a hefty dinner and the fact that the lights are off certainly isn’t helping. Yuuri glances at him and smiles, then returns his attention to the movie.

Except Victor doesn’t.

(Which is bad, because Phichit is probably going to give him a pop quiz on the names of the characters and the intricate details of the plot later.)

“This is his favorite part,” Yuuri whispers, pointing at the screen. But then he yawns, too, and lays down on his side, head resting on the arm of the couch and the blanket joining him, falling off of Victor’s lap.

“You stole the blanket,” Victor accuses. He tugs on it and Yuuri laughs as he tries to take it back, the action resulting in an impromptu battle.

Yuuri wins—but only because Victor gives up. He holds the edge of the blanket in his hands and brings it up to his chin. “It’s soft,” he points out, cheeks flushed red.

There’s a weird feeling in Victor’s stomach.

He smiles back. “I guess you’ll just have to move over, then.”

Yuuri obeys and shifts to the side, making barely enough room for Victor to lay behind him. Victor sighs sleepily and leans back against the couch, keeping a few inches of space between their bodies, because this is just a friendly thing, of course. Platonic, completely platonic. He glues his eyes back to the movie screen, but after a while he realizes he would be hard-pressed to name what had happened in the last couple of scenes.

He yawns again, eyes falling shut. Then he feels a back pressed against his chest and realizes that Yuuri has moved backwards—he wonders if that had happened on accident or on purpose. Given the way that Yuuri shifts forward again immediately, he figures it had been an accident. But it had felt nice, having Yuuri against him, so Victor touches his shoulder and presses on it gently until he’s back, touching him once again. Yuuri doesn’t protest.

“Are you tired, too?” Yuuri asks.

“I might have to give this movie a second attempt tomorrow,” Victor responds.

Yuuri laughs at that. “Don’t say that to Phichit. He’d never forgive you.”

Victor ducks his nose into the back of Yuuri’s shoulder, breathes in the scent of the familiar cologne that he always wears. He’s wearing a soft, long-sleeved blue sweater, and Victor smiles against him, hand on his shoulder moving to his side instead. Yuuri shuffles farther back against him, arms tucked in front of him.

This isn’t gay, though.

Just platonic.

Not that there’s anything wrong with it being gay, but this is Yuuri, so it isn’t.

This is Yuuri. His friend, Yuuri. His best friend.

And surely two guys can platonically cuddle on a couch after a movie? Besides, they’re both tired. It makes sense, really. Practical cuddling isn’t romantic cuddling. Simple fact. Like the fact that the sky is blue, or the fact that Yuuri has really long, beautiful eyelashes.

“Goodnight,” Yuuri mumbles, and his voice is adorably sleepy, a gentle breath leaving his lips, making Victor’s heart beat just a little faster.

Victor’s forehead is against Yuuri’s neck, which just reminds him of the hickey again and makes him tighten his grip on the man in front of him. Why does that thought disgust him so much? Why is he so bothered by a small mark on somebody’s skin?

(Unless he’s…)

(No, no, he can’t be.)

“Goodnight,” Victor answers.

~

There’s another guy two weeks later.

Blond, this time. Hideous, in Victor’s opinion. Rude, probably. Probably the type of person who chews with his mouth open. Probably the type of person who is not, in any way, shape, or form, good enough for Katsuki Yuuri. Though that last trait seems to apply to everyone in the world except for Yuuri himself.

It’s at night, this time, and they’re sitting on the couch together—Victor and Yuuri’s couch—and the guy is throwing popcorn at his face. Yuuri laughs and catches one kernel in his mouth. Victor clears his throat, and they both glance over at him.

“Home early?” Yuuri asks.

Victor nods. Once again, though, he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from the stranger. He does, just for a second, to scan Yuuri’s neck for any signs of evidence, but there’s nothing there. He exhales, relieved. Though his skin is still burning, his jaw is still set. Yuuri is watching him, confusion sparkling in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Victor answers, and he wonders if he should start coming home early more often, wonders if Yuuri would still bring guys around to the flat if he’s home all the time. Wonders how often this happens. Is it a daily thing? Yuuri certainly doesn’t seem like a major flirt. Yes, he flirts with Victor, but that’s playful, platonic flirting, not actual flirting. Does he do that with everybody and some people just don’t get the hint that he’s strictly being friendly? Maybe that’s it. That would explain it.

Yuuri licks his lips and glances at the guy. “This is Anthony.”

“Hi, Anthony,” Victor greets, and Anthony offers him a wave.

He has blue eyes, too.

Hmm.

Victor rakes his gaze up and down Anthony’s body, sizing him up. It’s hard to tell how tall he is while he’s sitting on the couch, but he certainly doesn’t look that tall. His arms definitely aren’t that muscular. Not impressive in the slightest. Victor isn’t intimidated.

(But why would he be intimidated?)

“How did you two meet?” Victor asks. He doesn’t mean for there to be ice in his tone, but oh look, there is. Somehow, he doesn’t regret it.

Anthony looks at Yuuri, who blushes. “Um, at a bar.”

“A bar?” Victor repeats, surprised.

“Phichit and I went,” he explains, giving Victor a look that clearly states do-we-really-have-to-do-this-now?

Victor hums. “Oh, okay.”

There’s a pause.

An uncomfortable tension in the room, the kind that makes Victor clear his throat and tug on the collar of his shirt. Yuuri is biting his lip, glances back and forth between him and Anthony. “Do you want to head back out?” he asks.

Except he’s not talking to Victor.

“Sure,” Anthony answers. “We could grab dinner.” Then he glances at Victor. “Do you…?”

Victor realizes that Anthony had been about to invite him and cringes internally at the fact that, okay, maybe this guy does have some manners. But Yuuri shakes his head. “No, he already has plans, actually.”

Victor doesn’t have plans. Has no idea what Yuuri is talking about.

But then they’re gone.

(And Victor is alone.)

~

They were supposed to go to brunch in the morning, Yuuri had been talking about it for weeks. There’s an all-you-can-eat pancake buffet at one of their favorite places. But Yuuri doesn’t come home.

He’s at Anthony’s house, a small voice in the back of his mind taunts him.

The thought is revolting.

He imagines Anthony’s hands on Yuuri’s hips, maybe slipping up his shirt—the other man’s fingers are probably cold, Yuuri would probably laugh at the feeling, and it would be that one cute laugh that he does, the one that is a borderline schoolgirl giggle, and, and…

Victor feels nausea swirling in his stomach, needs to sit down.

Because what if Anthony kisses him like James has, right there on Yuuri’s shoulder, near his pulse point, Yuuri shivering underneath him and reclining on the couch, or the bed, or a wall, or melting in the other man’s arms, he might even let out a sigh, a gentle one?

His heart is racing, now, knuckles white as they grip his bedsheets.

Victor takes a shower. It doesn’t help.

He pulls out his phone, considers texting Yuuri when he sees that there’s an Instagram notification. A photo of Yuuri and Phichit at the brunch place, a plate in front of them stacked high with buttery pancakes.

(He turns his phone off.)

(Lays back down on his bed and tries to sort out his life.)

(Yuuri comes back to the flat later that day, but things don’t go back to normal.)

(Instead, Yuuri just avoids eye contact, blatantly annoyed, and Victor doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t know what to say because a simple apology won’t cut it this time, because he’d promised not to be weird again but he had been, and he doesn’t know why.)

~

“Am I homophobic?”

Christophe stares at him.

His mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again.

Victor stares back, concerned. This thought has been bothering him for days now. He hadn’t seen James or Anthony again, but he’d heard Yuuri talking to someone on the phone this morning, and it’s killing him. Tearing him to shreds. Eating away at his mind, his thoughts. It had consumed him during his bowl of cereal, during work, during his showers, his sleep.

It won’t leave him alone.

(Like a rash, an itch.)

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” Christophe says slowly.

Victor leans back in the diner booth, the black cushions sinking beneath him. “I’m not joking. Please be honest.”

Christophe licks his lips, thinking. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Victor, but you’ve kissed guys before. I’m pretty sure you’ve kissed me before.”

“I know,” Victor argues. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not a homophobe.”

“It… It sort of does. Can I ask what brought this on?”

Victor shuts his eyes.

He thinks he’s homophobic because it’s an explanation. Because he can’t explain the nausea, can’t explain the anger. He has never had a problem with Yuuri before, no, they’ve always gotten along. Sure, they’d get in petty arguments over which season of the X-Files is the best season, but Yuuri had certainly never abandoned him for brunch before.

“Yuuri,” he says quickly, because he needs to tell someone about this. “I saw him with a guy. Twice, now. The first time he had a hickey on his neck and I felt angry—really angry—and Yuuri got upset because I was upset but I apologized and he forgave me. Then, the second time, I saw him on the couch with someone. The same couch where we spend time together. And pretty much the same thing happened but Yuuri walked out and didn’t come back until the next day.”

Christophe starts laughing.

Not the reaction Victor had expected.

Not in the slightest.

“Victor, you’re gay.”

“I’m not—”

(Is he?)

He’d never ruled out the possibility of being gay. If he’s being honest, he’d just never thought about it. After all, Victor has kissed girls before, he has kissed guys before. He has never had a serious relationship with either gender. Had never bothered to label himself because it had never really mattered. He hadn’t been gay, hadn’t been straight, he was just…

Victor.

(Just Victor.)

Christophe smiles as he watches the realization dawn on him. “You’re gay, and you have a crush on Yuuri. I’m surprised you didn’t know that—I’ve known for months.”

“You’ve… I’ve… What?”

“Ever since you two started living together, you’ve had a crush on him, right?”

He remembers meeting Yuuri. Remembers admiring his eyes, his lips, that adorable laugh and smile. Remembers getting to know him, late nights spent talking to one another in Yuuri’s room, sitting on his bed together, playing board games and falling asleep beside each other. Remembers that one time Yuuri had gotten a cold, the way he’d fallen asleep with his head on Victor’s lap, humming at the feeling of Victor carding his fingers through his hair.

No.

That had all been platonic.

(Right?)

(But what if…)

He remembers the flirting. Remembers complimenting Yuuri on how his muscular chest was visible through his shirt, once, and remembers Yuuri blushing. Yuuri makes jokes about his hair, how the color suits him even though it’s a bit odd, jokes about him being older than Yuuri is. But all of those things had been in good fun.

(Right?)

(Or had all of those things been romantic?)

(Platonic or romantic?)

Victor presses a hand to his forehead, the pounding won’t stop. “A crush?” he asks Chris.

“Well, you two always sit really close when I’ve hung out with both of you,” Chris explains. “And sometimes you’ll start whispering to each other and it’s like you’re lost in your own little world together. It’s cute.”

“Cute?”

Christophe shrugs. “Mila thinks you’re dating, too. So does Sara. And everyone else.”

Victor gapes, offended. “Why wouldn’t you tell me that I’m gay?”

“I… I’ve never had to tell anybody that before. That’s like the opposite of coming out.”

This means that he messed up.

Badly.

Which he’d already known, but now he just realizes for how long he has been messing up for. A long time.

“I need to apologize,” he realizes slowly.

Chris smiles. “That’d be a good idea. Besides, Vitya, he obviously likes you, too.”

“He… I…” Victor starts, still trying to take in the fact that he is, in fact, gay. Which shouldn’t be a shocker, but for some reason labelling himself makes his attraction to Yuuri feel five times as real. His mind keeps shifting through his memories with his flatmate, realizing the romantic tension behind everything that they’ve done together. “It all makes sense.”

He thinks of his smile again, thinks of those lips, thinks of cuddling him on the couch and being the first one to wake up, seeing his relaxed features as he sleeps and brushing some of his hair out of his eyes, gently trying to rouse him because Yuuri is laying on top of his arm and he can’t move, listening to his sleepy, mumbled syllables as he shifts away and falls back asleep an instant later.

It all makes sense.

And it’s like a paintbrush, going back through and coloring all of his memories with Yuuri, altering them just slightly until…

“I think I’m in love with him.”

Christophe doesn’t look surprised. “Tell him that.”

He will.

~

Yuuri is still mad at him.

“Open the door, please,” Victor begs.

There’s a sigh on the other side of the wood. “Maybe later, Victor.”

“Give me five minutes.”

No response.

“Just… Just thirty seconds. Please.”

Still no response. He thinks he hears the shuffling of sheets, wonders if Yuuri has put in earphones, wonders if he’s still able to listen.

Well, there’s one way to check.

“I’m gay.”

It’s silent, for a while. Victor knocks again. “Yuuri, did you hear me? I’m gay. As in, very gay, and I didn’t know. And that’s why I was acting weird. Chris told me.”

A small voice. “Chris told you that you’re gay? That’s… That’s not really how it works.”

“It makes sense. I thought… The reason I was acting weird those times is because I… Because…”

He hasn’t exactly come to terms with the idea that he had been jealous.

Even though, looking back, it’s obvious.

“I didn’t like seeing you with other guys,” he settles on saying.

Another shuffle. “Other guys?”

Victor leans against the door, sinks down until he’s sitting. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t say ‘guys,’ you said ‘other guys.’”

“Right, about that…” Victor starts.

It’s easy to come out to Yuuri, but to confess his love for him?

That’s a different ballgame.

He licks his lips. “Can we do this face-to-face?”

After a moment, the door unlocks, and he hears footsteps hurrying away. Victor swings open the door to see Yuuri has already retreated back to his bed, blankets covering his lap and his laptop laying to the side. “Hi,” he greets shyly.

Victor smiles. “Hi.”

“You can have thirty seconds,” Yuuri grants, and it takes Victor a moment to realize that he’s kidding. Or half-kidding, at least.

“Okay.” Victor shuts his eyes. “I didn’t know I was gay, but I also didn’t understand why I felt really grossed out after seeing you with…” He pauses. “Those guys. So I talked to Christophe, because I was guilty and confused and saw you eating pancakes with Phichit, and Christophe told me that I’m gay. And then I realized… I realized, that… That we… That…”

That’s where he freezes, can’t find the right words.

Yuuri is listening intently. “That what?”

“That I think… I think you’re…” He takes in a breath. This isn’t as easy as he had thought it would be. “We’re good friends, Yuuri. Best friends. At least, you’re one of my best friends.”

Yuuri smiles a little—a small thing that tugs on the corner of his lips. “You’re one of my best friends, too.”

“But,” Victor adds, “we do flirt. Have you noticed that? Because I’ve noticed that.”

“Flirt?”

He shrugs. “We… You… I mean, we cuddle, first of all. And then sometimes we wear each other’s clothes.”

“We don’t wear each other’s—”

“You’re wearing my shirt,” Victor points out.

Yuuri glances down, pulls at his black t-shirt. “This is mine.”

Victor grabs his shoulders and turns him around, examining the tag. “Nope, it’s mine. But you can keep it.”

His flatmate is blushing, just slightly. “Okay, I think I see what you mean. But what’s your point?”

“My point is that… I want to know if…” He pauses again. This is pathetic. “You know what, Yuuri, this is really difficult.”

Yuuri looks confused.

Victor sighs. “Can I just kiss you or something?”

“C-Can you…?” Yuuri stammers, pupils dilating.

He shrugs. “I just think it’d be easier than explaining this.”

“Victor? Are you saying…?”

Victor rubs the back of his neck. “I was kind of hoping you’d just say yes, and then it’d be like something in a movie, where we just start kissing and everything turns out okay, but now I’m starting to realize that maybe this wasn’t such a—”

Yuuri kisses him.

Moves closer to him, blankets caught underneath them, making the bed a bumpy surface, one of Victor’s hands making its way into his hair instinctively, his other hand cupping Yuuri’s cheek. And kissing him is…

Well, the fact that he’s kissing a guy doesn’t enter his mind.

Because he’s not just kissing any guy.

He’s kissing Katsuki Yuuri.

With that thought, he pushes Yuuri back against the bed, eyes shutting as he presses their chests together, tongue darting across his bottom lip. Yuuri sighs underneath him and both of his hands grip Victor’s biceps, fingers tangled in the fabric, and Victor presses harder in response to the noise, focusing on simple stimuli: the feeling of Yuuri’s breaths hot on his skin, the feeling of his chest pressed against Victor’s own. Most of all—his tongue, his teeth, his lips.

Victor can’t get enough.

(Wonders how he’d gone for so long without this.)

He moans when Yuuri’s tongue brushes against his own, chasing it. He tastes like mint toothpaste, the kind that they share, and Victor had never had any particularly emotional feelings about that toothpaste before, but now?

Yuuri pulls away for breath by turning his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips. Victor realizes that he’s smiling, too—can’t stop, actually. Because this is perfect.

“Yuuri,” he whispers, kissing his jawline. “I’m still not sure if I’m gay. Could we try that again?”

In lieu of an answer, Yuuri kisses him again, hands shifting down his sides and to the bottom of his shirt, drifting against his abdomen. “Now that you mention it, I’m not sure I’m gay either.” His voice is small, shy. “Maybe we’ll have to experiment?”

“They say experimenting is the best way to find out,” Victor promises. “It’s healthy, I think.”

“Hmm. Okay.”

~

A few hours later, when he’s laying on Yuuri’s chest, hair tickling his shoulder, Yuuri smiles down at him. “So have you decided?”

Victor hums in response, kissing his torso. “Decided what?”

“If you’re gay?”

“I don’t think I’m gay or straight, I think I’m Yuuri-sexual.”

Yuuri laughs and touches his hair. It feels impossibly nice, feels like he could melt into it, feels like he could fall asleep in his flatmate’s arms and never wake up again if he just keeps doing this for the rest of time. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”

Victor shakes his head. “I disagree. Anyway, if it’s not a thing, we’d better do a few more tests to make sure I’m really gay.”

“Okay, deal. Although you could just take a BuzzFeed quiz.”

“One of those options is more fun than the other.”

Yuuri grins and Victor flips them over so that he’s on top, kissing him again and being unable to care less about labels.


	8. how can gold compare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s akin to a religious experience, the first time Victor sees Yuuri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [how can gold compare](https://actualyuuri.tumblr.com/post/157844991759/id-love-to-see-your-take-on-a-role-reversal-au)  
>  length: 1k  
> rating: all ages  
> warnings: none  
> summary: It’s akin to a religious experience, the first time Victor sees Yuuri.

It’s akin to a religious experience, the first time Victor sees Yuuri.

A deity gliding across the ice—effortless, beautiful, magnificent.

(And the skater knows it, Victor thinks. It’s easy to tell that he knows it with his hair slicked back like that, with his charcoal costume that has silver crystals scattered across the torso. He knows it with the way that he controls his body, with the way that he has the audience eating out of the palm of his hand. He knows it, but it’s not cocky. He knows it, but it’s not arrogance. No, it’s unrestrained allure.)

“Who is he?” Victor asks Mila, and he hadn’t realized that he was breathless until he’d tried to speak.

“That’s Yuuri Katsuki,” Mila tells him, resting her elbow on his shoulder.

Yuuri Katsuki.

Yuuri Katsuki from Japan.

~

Yuri Plisetsky laughs at him when he buys his first poster.

Victor ignores him, stares at it proudly, hands on his hips. “I’ll skate next to him one day,” he announces, to himself, to the world, but mostly to Yuuri, who is standing in front of him. His hand is on his hip, and the photo catches him in the midst of moving it down his curves, a candid shot. Victor knows the routine well, could perform the movements with ease, albeit the fact that he can’t imitate most of the difficult jumps in it.

“With the way that you look at him?” Yurio says, mocking. “I actually believe you.”

~

The posters multiply.

So do Yuuri’s gold medals.

So do Victor’s skating abilities.

He learns more jumps, learns more routines, but when he needs something to come back to, it’s Yuuri’s short and long programs. They feel like home to him, a home that he neither created nor presented to the world, but a home that he can imitate, that he can pretend he’s invited to. One day, he skates Stammi Vicino, and he doesn’t realize that Mila had been videotaping him the entire time.

She uploads it.

It goes viral overnight.

He sees the hit counter in the morning, sees it go up and up and up right along with his hopes, his dreams, his belief that maybe, just  _maybe,_  Yuuri Katsuki will see it. Yuuri Katsuki, who is beautiful and untouchable, who is shy in interviews but confident on the ice, who licked his lips at the beginning of  _On Love: Eros_ and stared straight into the camera, straight at Victor…

He wonders. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll see it.

Maybe.

~

(He does.)

(He does, and then he shows up in Saint Petersburg, and Victor is…)

Victor is…

He’s captivated.

The way that Yuuri talks, the way that he walks, the way that he moves, every detail of him, every nuance. Victor is in love—he knows that, has known that from the start. He’s in love and he’s ridiculously in love and he’s crazily in love and he _wants_ him, he wants him more than he has ever wanted anything in his life, wants to be loved by him and wants to impress him and wants to make him happy and wants to skate for him and—

“Again,” Yuuri requests.

He does the salchow again.

Misses it.

Yuuri narrows his eyebrows. Not in annoyance, but in thought. “Watch your back leg.”

The second time, he lands it.

And Yuuri smiles at him, and Victor feels himself floating, flying far above the rink. “That was the one,” Yuuri says.

 _That was the one,_  Victor repeats to himself.

“Are you tired?”

Victor shakes his head.

(He’s exhausted.)

“Are you sure?” Yuuri insists.

He nods. He’s sure. He keeps practicing.

Yuuri seems proud of him, leans his arms on the edge of the rink, watching him. Victor meets his eyes every once and a while, offers him a smile back, and sometimes a blush will start to creep on Yuuri’s cheeks, and he’s distracting, isn’t he? Coaches aren’t supposed to be distracting, yet when he’s around, Victor can’t seem focus, yet at the same time he’s more inspired than he has ever been before.

~

At some point, Victor kisses him on live television.

(They never talk about it.)

But that night, he catches Yuuri sitting up in bed, only soft moonlight revealing his figure. There’s a finger on his lips, his eyes are shut. He’s remembering the feeling, Victor realizes, because Victor himself has done the same thing.

Without a word, he slips into Yuuri’s bed. Yuuri doesn’t say anything, either. They’re both tired from the events of the day. He wraps an arm around him, and Yuuri sighs against his skin, and Victor wishes he could talk to the little boy who had lined his walls with posters of the man laying in front of him. Wishes he could tell him that they’ll meet one day, that he’ll fall in love not only with the idealization of him but with the real, flawed man behind the television screen. The man who is easily flustered but talented beyond belief, the man who is introverted yet who can enthrall the globe with a flick of his little finger.

~

It’s Yuuri who buys the rings.

Victor wears it proudly, wears it everywhere. One of Yuuri’s friends, Phichit Chulanont, loudly accuses them of being engaged, and Yuuri laughingly makes a joke about them getting married when Victor wins gold.

Except it’s not a joke.

(Except it is.)

(Except it’s not.)

Either way, Victor tries hard, works hard—blood, sweat, tears.

He doesn’t win gold, but he wins a kiss the night after the competition from Yuuri, who can sense his disappointment. And after receiving that kiss…

(What is a gold medal, again? Why would Victor accept that as a reward after having this, after having him, after being with him? How can gold possibly compare to brown, the brown of his eyes, or to pink, the soft pink of his lips, or black, his tousled hair?)

“Next time?” Yuuri suggests quietly.

Victor kisses him.

Yuuri doesn’t protest.

 _Next time,_  he thinks, but he doesn’t really care.

Because he has already won.


	9. Pins & Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor doesn't like other people flirting with Yuuri Katsuki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Pins & Coffee](https://actualyuuri.tumblr.com/post/156245336644/prompt-yuuri-yuri-and-viktor-are-shopping-or)  
>  length: 1.8k  
> rating: all ages  
> warnings: none  
> summary: Victor doesn't like other people flirting with Yuuri Katsuki.

“People actually buy these things?” Yurio sneers as he shifts through the small pile of pins by the checkout. “What are you even supposed to do with pins?”

“Pin things,” Victor answers simply.

He rolls his eyes. “Duh, but pin them to what? Like, clothes? I wouldn’t put anyof these on my clothes.”

Yuuri shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I own pins.”

“Of course you do,” Yurio scoffs. He squints at the line in front of them. “How long is this gonna take? And why are there so many people here?”

“I’m not sure,” Victor notes. “Why don’t you wait in line while Yuuri and I keep shopping? Here’s some cash.”

“What?” Yurio asks, as Victor shoves the stacks of clothes and money into his arms and walks away. He glances over his shoulder at Yuuri, who glances between them, conflicted, before hurrying after Victor. “You two are  _not_  leaving me here.” He frowns at the person in front of him in line, then the person behind him. “Victor, come back here right now or I  _swear._ ”

“That was mean,” Yuuri says as he catches up to Victor, looking back at Yurio, who is fuming, the clothes piled up to his neck.

Victor shrugs. “He’ll get over it. Besides, we have a lot more shopping to do. I need more jeans. And Mila asked me to pick her up… Some sort of perfume.” He pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and squints at the print. “Can you read this?”

Yuuri stands on the balls of his feet to try and get a better look. “Um, no, I can’t.”

“Well, I’ll text her,” he sighs. “But she said it’s at a store on the lower level, so let’s go.”

“What about Yurio?”

Victor shrugs. “He’ll be in line for a while. And we’ll text him, too.”

They get on the escalator, Yuuri leaning against the railing as they descend towards the lower level of the mall. They’re each holding several bags, and Victor wonders if Yuuri’s arms are starting to get tired. “It’s this way,” he says.

He turns a corner, and Yuuri turns too, except there’s a loud slam. Victor turns around to see Yuuri on the ground, the bags spilled in front of him and a man kneeling down, mumbling quick apologies in Russian and helping him gather his fallen items. And Yuuri gets up slowly, rubbing at his forehead, and then his eyes meet the man’s.

And they stare for a second.

And Victor hurries over.

“Are you okay?” Victor asks him.

Yuuri nods. “I’m fine.”

“You speak English?” the Russian man asks.

(Of course this man happens to speak English, Victor thinks.)

“Yeah,” Yuuri replies, offering a smile.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking.” He finishes piling Yuuri’s items back into his bags and picks them up for him by the handles. And he has muscular arms. Victor will admit that. But only from an objective perspective, of course. It’s not as though he’s attractive.

“No, no, I wasn’t looking,” Yuuri insists. He adds a thanks as he takes the bags.

“Let me buy you coffee,” the man says. Then he glances at Victor, as if, perchance, remembering his existence. “Both of you.”

Yuuri blushes and ducks his heads. “Oh, you really don’t have to.”

“You really don’t have to,” Victor agrees, licking his lips. He takes a step closer to Yuuri. Because this man’s intentions are becoming obvious. And the way his eyes lock onto Yuuri is becoming obvious. And as childish as it may seem, Victor doesn’t like it.

“I insist,” the stranger adds. “There’s a place right over here.”

Yuuri glances at Victor, then shrugs. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

Victor hates Yuuri’s kindness.

(No, he loves Yuuri’s kindness. He just happens to hate it in this very moment.)

The man buys them coffee. He starts talking to Yuuri. Yuuri talks back to him. And they’re  _laughing._  “Did you hear that, Victor?” Yuuri asks him, a hint of concern in his eyes, which makes sense, probably, because Victor hasn’t heard a single word in the past three minutes.

“No, what is it?”

“Nothing,” Yuuri dismisses.

And the man is smiling at him.

Like they’re  _friends_  or something ridiculous like that.

(Yuuri is friendly, of course he’s friendly. But he’s also attractive. And sometimes friendliness and attractiveness can be a dangerous duo.)

“You two ditched me,” Yurio says as he walks up to them, shopping bags piled high. “And who’s this?”

“We bumped into each other in the mall, he offered to buy us coffee,” Yuuri explains. “Oh, I didn’t actually catch your name…”

“Alexei,” he answers, smiling. “And you’re…?”

“Yuuri.”

“Yuuri, that’s a nice name.”

Yuuri blushes.

(Victor hates it.)

(Because he has made Yuuri blush before on several occasions, and he prides himself on that. Because Yuuri looks unbelievably endearing when he blushes, and he ducks his head just like that, and sometimes he’ll touch his hair—yes, just like that. Except it’s not for Victor this time. Which is annoying. And unfair. Unfair for several reasons that he can’t think of right now, but that he is absolutely sure are present.)

“Your… Your name is nice too,” Yuuri tells him shyly.

Victor sees Yurio glance down at his phone and type out something. Then he feels his own phone buzz in his back pocket.

**You’re pathetic.**

He glares at Yurio and texts back.  **What?**

Yurio doesn’t respond, just sits down at their table, setting his bags on the floor beside the chair. And then Alexei is asking Yuuri about something, and Yuuri tugs on the collar of his shirt, licking his lips as he stares at the table. Victor sees Alexei’s gaze lock onto the action and curses internally. He takes his phone back out and texts Yurio again.  **Do something.**

Yurio raises an eyebrow at him from across the table. Yuuri and Alexei are too invested in their own conversation to notice either of them. And Yuuri doesn’t normally do well with strangers. Which is making this worse. Because this means that Alexei is quickly becoming more than a stranger. After all, they’re already on a first name basis. Why don’t they just get married? Oh, right, because Yuuri is engaged to Victor. To  _Victor._ Victor begins coming up with a list of casual ways he could introduce their engagement to the conversation. 

 **Would you pay me?** Yurio asks.

**Fine.**

**Say please.**

**Please.**

Yurio clears his throat. “I want to go home. Victor, take me home.”

Victor smiles internally, but sighs externally. “So early?” He laces his tone with fake disappointment.

“We need to get Mila’s perfume,” Yuuri points out.

“Then let’s get the perfume and leave,” Yurio says.

Yuuri smiles at Alexei. “It was nice meeting you.”

“It was nice meeting you too,” he says. “Would you… Do you have a phone?”

He nods. Takes it out of his pocket.

Victor  _can’t believe his eyes._

(Can’t believe them.)

Because Yuuri is giving his phone number to this man.

 _His fiancé,_ giving away his phone number.

No.

(No, no.)

(This can’t be happening.)

“We’ll have to keep in touch,” Alexei says, smiling brightly.

(Because who wouldn’t be smiling after receiving Yuuri’s phone number?)

Victor wants to wipe that smile off of his face as quickly as possible.

He takes Yuuri’s hand.

Laces their fingers.

Yuuri glances at him, surprised, lips parting.

Alexei looks surprised, too, and so does Yurio.

“Let’s go,” Victor says, smiling at Alexei. “Nice to meet you.”

Victor lets go of his hand a moment later, when they’re back in the crowded mall. He doesn’t want to, but he does. Yuuri still looks adorably confused, though, eyebrow shooting up towards his hairline. “What was that about?”

Yurio snickers. “I wonder.”

“What was what about?” Victor asks innocently.

Yuuri doesn’t answer, just enters the store and starts glancing around. “Did Mila text you back about the perfume?”

Before Victor can reply, Yuuri’s phone buzzes, and he takes it out of his pocket, smiling at the screen and typing something.

(Smiling at the screen.)

( _Smiling._ )

“Who are you texting?” Victor wonders. It’s a casual inquiry. Very casual. Just a question. An innocent question. Not weird in the slightest, no.

Yuuri glances up. “Oh, what?”

“Who… Who were you texting, just now?”

Yurio is face palming, out of Yuuri’s sight.

“Phichit,” Yuuri says. “He was just asking me to help him decide on an outfit.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” he asks.

“Just… That’s… Well, did you help him?”

Yuuri nods slowly. “Um, yes.”

“That’s… Nice of you.”

Yurio interrupts, “Here’s Mila’s perfume. I know because it smells bad.”

They buy the perfume, then they’re walking towards the car. Yuuri is texting someone again. “Phichit, still?” Victor asks.

“No, Alexei just said hi. Just so that I’d have his number, too.”

“Right. So that you have his number too,” Victor repeats slowly. “That makes sense.”

Yuuri licks his lips. “You’ve been… You’re acting weird.”

“Am I? I didn’t notice.”

“Okay, both of you, stop walking.” Yurio blurts. “Victor is jealous that you gave that guy your number because he’s dumb, and you didn’t notice because you’re dumb. There. Better? Can we all act normal again?”

Yuuri gapes. “You were jealous? Why?”

Victor rubs the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t use the word jealous… I just…”

“He was jealous,” Yurio confirms before hurrying towards the car and getting in shotgun. Yuuri and Victor remain in the parking lot.

“I… He looked at you. A lot,” Victor explains lamely.

Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek. “He was just being friendly.”

He laughs, but it’s humorless. “No… Yuuri, he was flirting. You’re just too nice to notice.”

“I don’t… Really?”

Victor nods. “Really.”

“Well, I wasn’t interested in him, anyway,” Yuuri says, shrugging. “I’m interested in someone else.”

“Oh.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I just…”

“I do have a fiancé, you know.”

Victor stares.

Stares.

(For a while, probably.)

(His mouth is open, probably. His eyes are wide, probably. He looks like an idiot, probably.)

But he doesn’t care. Can’t bring himself to care.

“You’re saying…?”

Yuuri rolls his eyes and takes his hand, lacing their fingers once again. “Yes, I’m saying that I’m not going to cheat on my fiancé. Is that really so shocking?”

“But that’s implying that we’re… That…”

“That we’re together?” Yuuri suggests. “You didn’t think we were?”

“I wasn’t sure what you thought,” Victor points out. “I thought we were. I didn’t know if you thought the same.”

“Well I do,” he assures him. “So no need to be jealous, okay?”

Victor glances down at their joint hands.

Yurio sticks his head out of the car window. “How long is this going to take? Can’t you two just kiss already and get it over with?”

Yuuri does that blush thing again. Except it’s with Victor, this time, and it feels twice as good, makes his heart skip a beat. “Should we?” Victor suggests.

“Kiss?” Yuuri asks, surprised. “I mean, if you—”

(Victor kisses him.)

(Soft, warm, inviting.)

“Isn’t it sort of weird that Yurio is coaching us through our relationship?” Yuuri asks when they’ve pulled away, his forehead pressed against Victor’s.

“Probably. But it shows that he cares.”

Yurio growls. “I heard that! I do  _not_  care.”

“He’s lying,” Victor whispers, giving Yuuri a wink.


	10. lost & found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor bumps into a lost child in a shop, and it turns out that that child's father is extremely attractive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [lost & found](https://actualyuuri.tumblr.com/post/155977257224/no-idea-if-you-like-kidfic-but-how-about-victor)  
>  length: 1.2k  
> rating: all ages  
> warnings: none   
> summary: Victor bumps into a lost child in a shop, and it turns out that that child's father is extremely attractive.

“Yurio, that tiger sweatshirt is  _way_  too expensive.”

The blond glares at him, maintains eye contact as he takes the sweatshirt off of the rack. “I’m getting it. Look how cool it is.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, waving his hand. “Not my money. But remember, we came here to get Mila a birthday present.”

“I don’t know what she wants,” he complains. “She wouldn’t tell me. I’ll just buy her a candle or something. She likes candles, doesn’t she?”

“When did Mila ever tell you that she likes candles?” Victor asks as Yurio marches to the checkout, placing the tiger sweatshirt on the counter.

Yurio shrugs. “I’m sure she mentioned it at some point.”

“Either way, you should—Oh!” Victor stops as something attaches to his leg. He looks down and sees that a little girl has grasped onto him, tight. Her nails are digging into his calf.

“Papa!” she yells in delight, burying her face in his knee.

Victor grimaces, looking around the store. “Er, I’m not your papa.”

She turns her head towards him. Big, brown eyes and short, black hair. There’s a pink scarf around her neck. Her eyes widen with fright. “Where’s Papa?”

“I… I don’t know, but we can help you find him,” Victor offers, glancing at the store clerk, who is chewing bubblegum and texting as she hands Yurio his bag. “Here, I’ll wait here with you, and my friend Yurio is going to look around the store for your papa, okay?”

She nods and Victor leads her to a nearby bench, sitting down beside her.

“You’re brave,” he compliments. “Where and when did you last see your dad?”

“Outside the shop,” she mumbles, looking down at her feet. “When will he be here?”

“Soon,” Victor promises. “I bet he’s looking all over for you right now.”

The little girl sniffs.

“What’s your name?”

“Emi,” she answers.

He offers a warm smile. “That’s a nice name. I’m Victor.”

“Victor?” she asks. “How come you sound funny?”

“Oh, er, I’m from Russia. I’m here for a competition.”

“A competition?” she asks, impressed. “What sort of competition? And is Russia the big country?”

He laughs. “Yeah, it’s big. And it’s a figure skating competition.”

“My papa takes me ice skating sometimes,” she comments, more comfortable, now. Victor is relieved. He’s not sure what he would’ve done if she had started crying. Comforting children had never exactly been his strong suit.

“Really? I bet you’re good at it.”

“I am,” Emi answers proudly. “I can go really fast.”

Victor glances around the store, wondering if Yurio had found her father yet. “I bet you could compete one day.”

She gapes. “Really?”

“Really.”

Then, suddenly, somebody is sprinting towards them, picks up Emi and spins her around, holding her close. Victor smiles at the sight, and at Yurio, who walks in behind the father, hands shoved in his pockets. “Emi, don’t ever leave my sight again,” the man is saying. “I was so worried.”

“Sorry, Papa,” she says as he kisses her cheek, setting her back down on her feet and keeping his hand firmly in hers.

“Thank you so much,” the man says to Victor and Yurio.

Victor pauses, gets a good look at him for the first time.

He has dark hair like his daughter’s, and it’s short, a bit messy. There are glasses on his nose, black rimmed, and he’s smiling at Victor brightly. Victor stares, smiling back, unsure of how to do anything else. He’s gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. And smiling at him.

(Such a great combination of things.)

In the background, he sees Yurio roll his eyes knowingly.

“He’s a figure skater, Papa,” Emi tells the man, pointing at Victor. “From Russia!”

“Really?” the father asks, eyes not drifting from Victor.

Victor nods. “I am. We’re here for a competition.”

“Did you tell him that you’ve ice skated before?” the man asks Emi, picking her up again and holding her against his chest, her arms automatically wrapping around him.

(Victor’s heart collapses.)

(He’s certain, in that moment, that this is what love at first sight feels like.)

“She told me,” Victor confirms. “I told her that she could be a competitive skater one day.”

The man laughs, looking at his daughter lovingly. “Would you want to do that?”

The little girl nods excitedly.

“I’m Yuuri, by the way,” he introduces himself, extending his hand.

Victor shakes it. Probably too enthusiastically, probably for too long. “I’m Victor.”

(He’s probably smiling too much, isn’t he? Probably should stop that. Except he can’t figure out how. But he doesn’t want to freak Yuuri out. But if he has, then it’s too late to go back, now.)

“I really can’t thank you enough,” Yuuri says. “I was outside the shop and I just looked over and she was gone.”

“No need to thank me,” Victor responds.

“ _Us,_ ” Yurio corrects.

They look at each other for a moment—Yuuri runs a hand through his hair. Victor watches, entranced. “Well, we’d better get going, we have to get home. Say thank you, Emi.”

“Bye, mister,” she says to Victor, then turns to Yurio. “Bye, other mister. Good luck at your competition. And thank you!”

“Bye,” Victor says, waving to her.

The moment Yuuri and Emi turn around and leave the store, Yurio elbows him in the side. “What are you doing, you idiot?”

Victor glares at him, rubbing his side. “Ouch. What do you mean what am I doing?”

“Oh my god, you’re so thick. I’m never going to hear the end of it unless you go get that guy’s number.”

He gapes. “You want me to…?”

“Go,” Yurio commands, pointing towards the shop doors. “I will not have you ranting about him to me for the rest of time.”

“He was attractive,” Victor sighs. “And nice, and did you see his eyes, Yurio? They were—”

“Go, right now,” he urges, pushing him forward.

Victor exits the store and he sees Yuuri and Emi going up the escalator. He climbs it two steps at a time, stepping past people and dodging them in order to make his way up. “Excuse me, excuse me.”

Yuuri turns around, noticing him.

“Could I… Would you want to get coffee sometime?” he blurts, before he loses his courage. “I’m only in town for a few more days, but…”

(It occurs to him then that he doesn’t even know if Yuuri is single.)

(Whoops.)

“I don’t like coffee,” Emi complains, scrunching up her nose.

Yuuri laughs at his daughter, then bites his lip nervously. “Sure. Do you have a phone?”

(Single, then.)

(Victor can’t believe his luck.)

He takes out his phone, opening a new contact form and handing it to Yuuri to fill out. When he gets the phone back, he glances over the information. Yuuri Katsuki. He had just gotten Yuuri Katsuki’s phone number.

“Can we get ice cream instead?” the little girl persists, tugging on her father’s sleeve.

“I like ice cream,” Victor answers, shrugging.

Yuuri laughs. “Ice cream it is. I’ll talk to you?”

Victor nods, grinning.

“Why were you looking at him like that, Papa?” Emi asks loudly as they walk away.


	11. yuri or yuuri?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor is a barista who harbors a crush on his favorite customer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [yuri or yuuri?](https://actualyuuri.tumblr.com/post/157847490294/viktor-is-a-barista-at-a-coffee-shop-near-where)  
>  length: 1.6k  
> rating: all ages  
> warnings: none  
> summary: Victor is a barista who harbors a crush on his favorite customer.

“So the barista is…”

 _Attractive,_ Yuuri’s mind finishes automatically. The barista is off-putting in simultaneously the best and worst possible ways. He’s off-putting in the best way because he’s gorgeous, silver-haired and blue-eyed and everything that Yuuri’s wildest dreams couldn’t even come up with. But he’s also off-putting in the worst way because the barista’s aforementioned attractiveness makes Yuuri’s words come out in awkward, pieced-together chunks that make him appear to be an idiot.

“…nice,” Phichit finishes his phrase, smiling knowingly at Yuuri.

“He’s nice,” Yuuri agrees, dismissing the topic with a wave of his hand. He takes another sip of his drink.

Phichit takes the cup out of his hand, and Yuuri tries to grab it back, but his friend is squinting at the name written on it.  _Yuri._  “He spells your name wrong.”

“Plenty of people do.”

“There’s no line right now. Why don’t I go correct him?”

Yuuri pales, takes his cup back and leans across the table, keeping his voice low. “Phichit, don’t you  _dare._ ”

“If you’re not crushing on him like you say, then why should it matter?” Phichit asks conversationally, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his chair so that it’s only balanced on the two rear legs. “You come in here every day. He should learn how to spell your name, don’t you think?”

“That’s rude, though,” Yuuri points out hopelessly. “To just correct him like that.”

“No, I’m sure he’d thank you.”

He sighs, buries his face in a hand.

When he peeks an eye out between his fingers to glance at the barista, though, the barista is looking at him. Which is a problem, because when the barista looks at him, his thoughts turn to gush. Which is what’s happening now. Because the barista is still looking at him. And won’t stop looking at him, apparently.

“How’s your drink?” the barista asks.

His drink. Right. He’d ordered a drink. A caramel macchiato. Right. It’s in front of him. On the table. And Phichit is in front of him, and Phichit is probably wanting him to respond, and obviously the barista is wanting him to respond. He opens his mouth, waits for the words to spill out, but they don’t.

“Yuuri is shy,” Phichit says, the epitome of charisma, “but there are actually two ‘u’s in his name. Just so that you know. Oh, and my drink is delicious.”

Yuuri swallows, smiles awkwardly. “So is mine.”

“Oh,” the barista says, and his name tag says Victor, so Yuuri should start thinking of him as Victor, except he shouldn’t, because somehow that name only makes him seem more attractive. “Sorry about that.” Then, he smiles. “Yuuri.” The way that his Russian accent curls around his name sends a shiver down Yuuri’s spine.

“That’s okay,” Yuuri hurries to say. “Um, plenty of people spell it wrong.”

“Plenty of people spell my name with a ‘k,’” Victor adds, obviously trying to be conversational, and it works—or it would work, if he were conversing with anyone other than Yuuri Katsuki. “Oh, it’s, er, Victor, by the way.” He points at his own name-tag.

“I know,” Yuuri answers.

He winces.

(Phichit winces.)

(Even Victor probably winces, internally.)

But externally, the employee laughs, runs a hand through his hair.

There’s a silence.

Phichit kicks Yuuri lightly underneath the table.

Yuuri clears his throat. “Um, I like your name.”

The barista—Victor—lights up at that. “Yours isn’t bad either, Yuuuuri.” He purposefully stretches out the ‘u’ sound and Yuuri laughs, glad that this guy seems to be good at making conversations out of seemingly anything. “See you around?”

“See you around.”

~

“One caramel macchiato for Yuuuuuuri?” Victor asks the next morning.

Yuuri blinks, surprised.

Victor knows his order.

Victor remembers his name.

(Victor’s eyes look extra blue today.)

He offers a shy smile, nods, pays.

When he picks up his cup, there are at least twenty ‘u’s on it. He spins it around, trying to read them all, and catches Victor watching him, amused, from the counter. “Look at the bottom of the cup,” he advises.

Yuuri looks at the bottom of the cup.

There’s a phone number written there.

Victor has a finger on his lips and winks at him.

~

Needless to say, Yuuri avoids the coffee shop.

“I thought you liked him,” Phichit groans, exasperated. “He obviously likes you.”

“He’s intimidating,” Yuuri explains helplessly. He does feel a twinge of guilt for going to a different coffee shop for the past week. They do have good coffee where Victor works, and Victor is very friendly. But he’s also intimidating—that’s definitely not a lie.

Victor practically oozes charm.

(Charm that Yuuri is not, and never will be, prepared for.)

Phichit doesn’t look impressed. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who intimidated  _him._ That guy lit up whenever you walked in. You might not be able to notice, but I can. So I think you should start going back there. Face your fears.”

~

Phichit eventually convinces him to go back.

“Yuuuuuuri!” Victor calls from the counter.

There’s a redhead grinning at him. She touches Victor’s shoulder, squeezes it, then turns away to focus on something else. Yuuri smiles brightly back at Victor, whose enthusiasm is contagious. “Good morning.”

“Where’ve you been? I started to think that maybe you’d lost your caffeine addiction.”

Yuuri realizes that Victor is already working on his caramel macchiato.

It makes him happy in a way that no amount of caffeine could make him happy. He takes out his wallet, but Victor shakes his head at him. “This one is on the house.”

“No, you don’t have to—”

“I insist. I don’t want to lose my favorite customer.”

If Yuuri wasn’t blushing before, he definitely is now. He accepts the drink gratefully, but he’s still lingering by the counter, and so is Victor, and the redheaded girl is out of sight, now. “Thank you,” Yuuri says, sipping it.

“Look at the caramel.”

There’s a caramel heart drawn across the whipped cream.

“Oh,” he breathes, then starts laughing. He meets Victor’s eyes, searches them. “Um…”

“If you want me to stop, you can tell me,” Victor tells him, shrugging one shoulder. “You know, if it bothers you or something.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Yuuri promises.

Victor looks relieved, lets out a small laugh, and some tension that Yuuri hadn’t realized was there leaves his posture. “Great. That’s great.”

~

The next day,  _Google_  is written on his coffee cup in place of his name.

He looks at Victor, waiting for an explanation.

“You have everything that I’m searching for,” Victor tells him with ease.

Yuuri doesn’t think about anything else for the rest of the day.

~

“You know who you look a lot like?” Victor asks him on a Thursday.

“Who?”

“My next boyfriend.”

It has become a game between them, Victor flirting incessantly and Yuuri having an internal meltdown. He loves it, he hates it—he can’t decide. Either way, it always leaves him speechless, flustered, and Victor seems to feed off of that, sometimes touching his hands when he gives him the cup, sometimes adding an extra pick-up line just to top it off.

~

On Friday, it says  _Yuuuuuuri Nikiforov._

Yuuri knows Victor’s last name by now, pales at the sight of the cup and ducks his head with embarrassment. “What? Don’t you think it has a ring to it?” Victor asks, preening.

~

On Monday, the cup says  _Wi-Fi._

“I’m feeling a connection,” Victor tells him.

~

On Tuesday, it says  _Ariel._

“We were mermaid for each other.”

Yuuri laughs a little too hard at that one, and his hand brushes across Victor’s forearm. During Victor’s break an hour later, he comes and sits next to Yuuri, and they easily talk about everything and nothing, smiling and laughing and learning about each other and Yuuri wonders how it’s possible for someone to make sitting in a small coffee shop so magical.

~

On Wednesday, it says  _gorgeous._

“I’m running out of ideas,” Victor admits. “So you’re going to need to go out with me soon or I’ll have to resort to some really, really bad jokes, and trust me, you don’t want to hear them.”

“So you don’t think the ones so far have been bad?” Yuuri responds without missing a beat.

Victor clutches his heart and pretends to pass out. Turns out there’s a woman waiting at the counter to be helped, and she’s not nearly as impressed with Victor’s sense of humor. Yuuri, on the other hand, is stifling laughter behind his hand. As soon as her drink is made, Yuuri bites his lip, nods. “I’ll go out with you.”

“You will?”

“Sure.”

Victor grins, touches his hand and laces their fingers. “Tomorrow night?”

“Sure,” Yuuri repeats, breathless.

“Dinner? A movie, too? Or is that too much?”

“I’m… I’m okay with both,” he answers, “if you are.”

“I’m okay with both,” Victor agrees. “What movies do you like? Horror movies? No, romance movies? No, no, comedies. We’ll watch a comedy. I’ll surprise you, but you’ll like it, I promise. How does six o’clock sound?”

Yuuri just nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Victor walks around the counter to hug him. “Thanks for saying yes, Gregory.”

Yuuri falters, confused. “Oh, my name—”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I know that your name is actually Lewis.”

“Victor…”

Victor pulls away, squints at him. “Jeremy? Peter, maybe? Oh, I guess I forgot your name. Maybe instead I could just call you  _mine?_ ”

Yuuri groans when the joke processes in his mind. “That was the worst one yet.”

“I lied, I wasn’t completely out of bad jokes,” Victor says, and plays with the sleeve of Yuuri’s sweater. “I’ll have more for you tomorrow night, I promise.”

“Are you trying to get me _not_ to go?”

Another customer enters the building, and Victor gives him one last blinding smile before going to help them. “See you tomorrow, Robert.”

“Okay, Michael,” Yuuri answers, waving to him.


	12. Stick Chasing & Thunderstorms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vicchan dies on a Tuesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Stick Chasing & Thunderstorms](https://actualyuuri.tumblr.com/post/157252239014/stick-chasing-thunderstorms)  
>  length: 2.5k  
> rating: teen+  
> warnings: animal death, anxiety attacks  
> summary: Vicchan dies on a Tuesday.

Vicchan dies on a Tuesday.

(A Tuesday, of all days. Tuesdays are insignificant, are ordinary, are everything that Vicchan  _wasn’t_ —Tuesdays are schoolwork and an episode of a television show that Yuuri can’t get invested in. Tuesdays are pale, Vicchan was vibrant. Tuesdays are current tense, Vicchan is past tense.)

Yuuri doesn’t cry until Thursday.

He doesn’t let himself cry before then. Mari wants him to, is begging him to, practically, but he refuses. He’s not normally one to compartmentalize—no, normally he’s a swirl of emotions lit like a match and let loose onto the world, but this isn’t a failed assessment or an inadequate routine, he tells himself. This his best friend, and his best friend deserves mourning that isn’t associated with piles upon piles of stereotypical crumpled tissues and pallid knuckles.

On Thursday morning, though, when his mother comes into his room and hugs him without a single word, wraps him up in her arms, he lets himself go. It’s messy and he wonders what Vicchan would think, wonders how quickly he’d hop up on the bed and lick away Yuuri’s tears, wonders if his innocuous mind is even capable of understanding the concept of crushing grief and devastation.

(He’s reminded of a Sunday night, when Vicchan had started coughing violently at four in the morning. Yuuri had leaned forward and rubbed his back and cried his eyes out, his best friend wagging his tail a few minutes later as though nothing had happened. And perhaps that’s simultaneously the worst and best part—the obliviousness. As if Vicchan can’t comprehend what he means to Yuuri, as if his only concern in life is his owner’s happiness and he doesn’t realize that, inadvertently, he’ll be the one to take that away.)

On Friday, he tells himself that he won’t skate anymore.

(On Saturday, Mari tells him that that idea is ridiculous. He cries again, but it’s not nearly as messy as the first time, and somehow that feels like an insult to Vicchan, like Vicchan is already being forgotten, like his mourning is already starting to cease. Yuuri pummels himself to insist that no,  _no,_  he won’t be forgotten—he won’t let that happen.)

Later that day, there’s a competition on the television, and there’s a silver-haired boy making his way into the middle of the rink, his own brown poodle waiting for him at home. Yuuri knows that he and Victor have never met, knows that there’s a good chance they never will meet, yet he still wants to talk to him.

(He wants to tell him about the way that Vicchan had loved the water, but had abhorred towels, about the time that he had shaken out his fur and jumped on top of Yuuri, determined to get his brand new t-shirt as soaking wet as possible. He wants to tell him about the way that Vicchan had adored gift wrapping paper, how he’d tear it to shreds with his paws and couldn’t care less about the contents underneath. About the way that Vicchan had been so fascinated with little things like that, about the way that Yuuri strived to be more like him, to focus on the insignificant, delightful details of life instead of the anxious bits that can so easily overshadow them.)

On Sunday he skates.

(And he feels better, at first, but then it goes too far, and he slips on the ice but he gets back up and does the same jump again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again then it’s Yuuko who finds him. She insists that he stops, picking him up in her arms and cradling him against her chest like he’s a child again, like he’s the little boy who had wanted the brown poodle with the big eyes so that he could be more like Victor. She insists that it’s okay to be sad, but he doesn’t  _want_  to be sad, he wants to be something more, wants to compose a new emotion, wants to do something that would make his best friend proud.)

(With that thought, his body shudders uncontrollably in time with each sob, hands gripping Yuuko’s coat like it’s his anchor, tears landing on the ice beneath him, one of the only places he has always felt comfortable.)

Monday is better, but his thoughts are consumed with wrapping paper.

On Tuesday, Mari insists, “It’ll get better.“

(He doesn’t want it to. Never has wanted it to, can’t she see that?)

Nobody had told Yuuri when or where they’d buried Vicchan, and for that he’s glad, but he sees a gravestone outside of the hot springs one day and that’s when his mind escapes his body, that’s when he collapses again, except this time Yuuko isn’t there to catch him and neither is the image of Victor Nikiforov, and neither are his mother or his father so he has to catch himself, brings himself back up to his feet. He reminds himself that Vicchan never liked to see him cry. Reminds himself that if he can get up this time, he can do it again in the future, he can handle anything.

And then he remembers that it’s a Tuesday again, and he doesn’t want Tuesdays to be insignificant anymore, wants to make every day count, so he tries to learn a new jump. Yuuko keeps a careful eye on him, but he maintains his composure.

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday—they’re all the same.

On Saturday, he smiles again, and he doesn’t realize it.

He feels guilty about it, and he doesn’t know why, but he’s crying again, and it’s as messy as the first time,  _thank god._  Mari seems to understand, or at least she pretends to, and she rubs his back and lets him cry on her shoulder and tells him that Vicchan loves him, somewhere, anywhere, at all times. Vicchan loves him, and that’s what matters. Whether he’s crying or not crying, Vicchan loves him.

(Mari loves him, too. She doesn’t say that, then, but he knows it.)

On Sunday, he sees Makkachin on the television. He had thought that the sight would depress him, but he sees Victor Nikiforov smiling for the camera with a hand on his poodle’s back and instead it elates him. It makes him laugh out loud without meaning to, and there are tears again, but they’re for a different reason, now. Vicchan might be dead, but he’d lived, and Makkachin is living now, too, and that’s the way of things.

That’s the way of things.

The years pass, the pain dulls. It still comes fresh sometimes, like a scar that can be reopened with the simplest of cuts, that can’t be covered with any patchy medical procedure or cheap makeup. He wears it proudly, though, thinks of his best friend whenever he lands a new jump or accomplishes something—whether it be as simple as getting out of bed on a particularly difficult morning.

Mari visits Vicchan’s grave with him. Once a month.

When he starts skating more competitively, when the sport starts to consume more and more of his days, he can’t keep up with that schedule. But when his mother tells him over the phone that Vicchan would forgive him, would be so proud, he just smiles, wishes his puppy could be held in his mother’s lap while he skates on the ice at the Grand Prix Final in a few months.

The competition ruins him.

He wakes up hungover the morning after the banquet in Sochi. The first thing he does is fumble to find his phone on his nightstand. Then, he unlocks it and opens the camera roll. A few years ago, during a hands-shaking-breaths-breaking anxiety attack, he’d deleted all photos of his beloved pet except for one. Vicchan is smiling in Yuuri’s arms, tongue sticking out, not a care in the world. For a second, he wonders what Vicchan would think if he’d seen Yuuri fail, but then he remembers that he wouldn’t have been able to tell. Failure or success on the ice, they would look the same through a dog’s eyes. At least, if not for the tears afterwards. For some reason, that thought is funny to him.

Time passes.

And then a poodle knocks him over.

“Vicchan?” he asks, hope heavy in his heart.

 _No,_  he thinks.  _Bigger._  Bigger than Vicchan, bigger than his tiny poodle. But this dog does have three things in common: he’s a brown, standard poodle, he’s familiar, and he radiates joy like it’s carbon dioxide, like it’s meant to extrude from every fiber of his being.  _Makkachin,_  Yuuri thinks.  _This is Makkachin._

And then he meets Victor.

There isn’t any moment in particular when Victor finds out about Vicchan’s death. It just sort of happens over time, subtle comments or that moment when they see his tombstone near the hot springs. Victor doesn’t talk about it, which is odd, because Victor talks about  _everything,_  from his past lovers to his hair washing routine. But he doesn’t talk about Vicchan, he never talks about Vicchan.

It doesn’t take long for Yuuri to fall in love with Makkachin. Or with Victor, for that matter.

On Mari’s birthday, everyone is giving her gifts, and Makkachin is in the small living space with them. When Mari tears the crisp, green paper off of Yuuri’s present and lets it fall to the floor, Makkachin picks it up in his mouth and gleefully runs away with it. Yuuri stands up and leaves the room—instinctive, his legs moving before his mind can even process the emotions. There’s a mumbled apology, maybe, but it doesn’t reach his own ears.

(Nobody questions it.)

(Victor doesn’t question it, but he finds him anyway.)

Victor listens as they lay on Yuuri’s childhood bed. Yuuri retells tales of stick chasing and thunderstorms. He speaks quietly of trips to the veterinarian and of a love so heavy that it felt like the weight of the world on his shoulders. Victor’s fingers are joined with his, and he traces little patterns across the backs of Yuuri’s hands. Like a figure skating routine, Yuuri thinks. He talks about wrapping paper, talks about Tuesdays and what they mean to him, and what he doesn’t expect is for Victor to hug him tighter with every word, to bury his face in Yuuri’s hair and whisper soothing words in Russian. Yuuri doesn’t expect to break down there, that day, in that bed, but he does, and it’s messy, but Vicchan loves him whether he’s crying or not, right?

(Right?)

He tries to explain that emotion to Victor, tries to explain what Vicchan had meant to him, and Victor seems to understand, despite the fact that Yuuri can’t form coherent syllables anymore. Makkachin runs into the room and jumps up onto the bed beside them, and it’s too small for all three of them but Yuuri happily takes him into his arms as well, kissing the top of his head and wondering if his love for Vicchan is being replaced, if this is betrayal somehow.

“It’s not,” Victor promises.

Victor tells him that it’s okay to mourn, that it’s good for him. He tells him that it’s okay to be sad on Tuesday afternoons, tells him that it’s okay to think of his dog when he sees water (whether it’s an ocean, a lake, a pool, a glass), tells him that it’s okay to still think of the little boy trying desperately to wipe off Vicchan’s muddy paws after they’d gone on a wild, outdoor adventure.

That’s when he remembers who Vicchan was named after, so he tells Victor that, and Victor just smiles and tells him that that’s not true. “Vicchan isn’t named after me,” he says. Vicchan is Vicchan, and though Yuuri may have originally picked out the name to pay tribute to his figure skating idol, he was his own dog, had become Yuuri’s best friend. Vicchan is Vicchan and Victor is Victor and that’s that.

(He says he’s flattered, though.)

(Yuuri tells him of the conversations he’d dreamt of having with him.)

(Tells him of his frustrations at the rink on a Sunday afternoon so long ago, of aching hearts and bleeding knuckles, of an anger too large to bear alone. Tells him of a wishful vengeance against the world that hadn’t suited his personality, of a failed salchow, of the jingle of Vicchan’s collar.)

(Tells him everything, because Victor meets him halfway, doesn’t he? He never pushes, but he’s always there, and he may not be good with expressing his feelings but he’s good at talking about dogs, and there they can find common ground. Common ground through paws and black, wet noses.)

He’ll marry Victor a few years later.

Makkachin is at the wedding, of course.

But there’s a flash.

 _A flash,_  Yuuri thinks.

A flash, an instant where he thinks he can see a little brown poodle standing beside his larger counterpart, looking up at Yuuri with doe eyes that had caught his attention as a little boy and that still manage to catch his attention now. An instant where he thinks that he can see a little brown poodle getting into trouble knocking over a vase, adorably jumping on every guest who would come to the inn, having a violent coughing fit at four in the morning that would give his owner nightmares throughout the rest of his life.

An instant where Yuuri pauses, where Victor squeezes his arm tighter, as though he can see, too. As though he understands. An instant where Makkachin is happily wagging his tail and he has time and  _love_  left inside him, and there’s so much of the stuff that it hurts to think about. He doesn’t even know what a wedding is but he’s elated, jumping around and buoyant and carefree in the world.

Yuuri says goodbye.

(But he doesn’t just say goodbye.)

(Yuuri tells Vicchan about how he is now loved by his namesake. He tells him that Victor strokes his hair when he’s sad, that Victor has a little poodle who reminds Yuuri of his best friend. He tells him that, yes, he loves Makkachin, and he always will, but he’ll never be Vicchan. He tells him that although he has been sad at so many points throughout his life, right now, he’s unabashedly, unashamedly, unbelievably happy.)

He says thank you.

And then the visage is gone.

~

Three years later, in front of a cozy hearth in an apartment in Saint Petersburg, Russia, there are several wrapped gifts. One is far larger than the rest, white with large holes poked in the top, occasionally emitting suspicious scratching noises.

A little girl falls in love with a brown poodle, whose eyes are big and brown, familiar and new all at once.

It’ll break her heart years later, yes, but it’ll be the best heartbreak she’ll ever have.


	13. Inadequate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri messes up at a competition and Victor finds him cold and alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Inadequate](https://actualyuuri.tumblr.com/post/156861237299/i-loved-the-way-you-wrote-yuuris-anxiety-attack)  
>  length: 3k  
> rating: teen+  
> warnings: anxiety attacks  
> summary: Yuuri messes up at a competition and Victor finds him cold and alone.

It was the salchow that got him.

(Not even a quad, but a triple in a combination.)

His knee bent awkwardly against the ice, but it wasn’t nearly as painful as the audible gasp from the crowd around him, the concern, the pity, the embarrassment. He gets back up, sure, but it doesn’t go away—the aura following him for the rest of his free skate, even one of the judges giving him a pitiful ghost of a smile.

And each look, each void praise after he has put his skate guards on is like another icicle settling itself in his chest, expanding and contracting until they’ve chipped away at his organs, until it’s all he can feel, until there are holes in his lungs and an airiness to his thoughts, as though they’re being sucked out of him. As though he’s collapsing inward, a disaster with a desperate desire to cause as little collateral damage as possible.

So he breathes.

(But it doesn’t work.)

(Like he’s broken— _broken._ )

He breathes, and he sits.

It’s cold, too cold, and he hasn’t even changed out of his costume yet, had just put a black jacket and sweatpants on and made his way out of the rink to the nearest desolate alleyway, needing to escape the people, the noise, the pity, the pity, the pity. Because that’s the worst part, isn’t it? The comfort? Years and he’d never grown used to it, years and Celestino’s old words still ring true: he’s his own worst enemy.

Celestino, of course, had meant it on a mental level, but Yuuri interprets it both mentally and physically. He sees how his thoughts pick away at him piece by piece, sees how he can do nothing to stop it, but he also sees his leg collapsing, sees that knee brushing against the cold ice with the entire world watching.

He tugs the jacket tighter around his shoulders, because he’s freezing here in Moscow, because he’s too embarrassed to make his way to the hotel, to do anything. The street isn’t even well lit, and part of his mind is afraid, but he chastises that part too, because it isn’t fair. Isn’t fair that he was born this way, cowardice engraved in his mind like a birthmark, imperfections blazing on his skin like brands.

The salchow. The anxiety.

(They’re all components of something greater.)

He breathes.

(It still doesn’t work.)

(And if his lungs won’t work, if his legs don’t work, if his mind doesn’t work, then what does? Then what’s his purpose?)

He thinks of Victor.

Thinks of the look on his face after the routine. Critical. Objective.

(But even Victor had pitied him, and Yuuri thinks that that may be the worst part.)

There’s a sort of collapse to each futile breath, a shake crescendoing into a shiver, eyes shut tight, blood rushing to his face, his body’s effort to keep him alive, chastising him for sitting in the cold like this. But the air kisses his skin, burns in a way that he feels he deserves.

Sometimes it’s not his breathing, it’s the aching. Starting his stomach and working up to his torso, even his arms are tired, limping by his sides, but his head is the worst. He’s not sure if it’s the thoughts or the stress or the ice but there’s a pounding behind his eyelids, like a drumbeat. Consistent. Rhythmic. Dependable. Harrowing.

He breathes.

(Except he doesn’t this time.)

(It doesn’t work, and he’ll die here, won’t he?)

A pathetic whimper escapes his lips as he leans back against the brick wall, stones cold even through his jacket and costume, nipping at him, and the alley is dirty—covered in muck—and he removes his hands from it, a retching sensation trying to work its way up into his throat but losing power in his stomach, instead just leaving him with a dizziness that makes his skull feel lighter than it had before.

And there’s the taste of salt in his mouth. Blood or tears, he can’t tell.

A shuffle of footsteps.

Yuuri is coated in the protective shadows of the building behind his back, but he shuffles farther away from the path anyway, farther into the darkness. A figure walks past.

Silver hair.

Unmistakable.

Doesn’t see him.

Victor. Victor, who Yuuri had let down again, who Yuuri would keep letting down. Who had flown to Japan to coach him, who had spent time with him, who had encouraged him, who had convinced him that he could do great things only to watch him fail over and over again. Only to watch him fail a triple salchow.

A triple salchow.

(Not a quad, a triple.)

A jump that Victor could do in his sleep.

He lays down on his side, curls up, ignores the muck, clutches at his knees and tries to hug them to his chest, but the left one still hurts and that only reminds him, only makes the breaths come quicker, every fiber of his being begging him for oxygen.  _Stop it, stop it,_  he chastises himself, because this is  _pathetic,_  this is what younger skaters do after flubbing, this is what _children_  do. He should accept the defeat, accept his failure for what it is.

Then the figure returns, pausing at the corner of the alleyway. “Yuuri?” It’s quiet, muttered, but then it rushes forward. “Yuuri!”

“Go away,” Yuuri begs, backing up. “Please go away.”

He needs to go away, has to. Because he’d already disappointed Victor, and this will just make it worse, make it so much worse, make Victor’s image of him drop to the point of irreparability. Yuuri isn’t sure he can take that.

But his coach ignores him, kneels down and grips his shoulders, eyes darting back and forth between Yuuri’s own, which are downcast, wide. “Yuuri, look at me.”

He doesn’t.

Can’t.

Wants to, but can’t. The shame is overpowering, like a parasite.

“Yuuri,” Victor repeats, a warning in his tone.

He does.

And then he breaks.

(Snaps, fractures, cracks.)

And he’s clutching Victor, or more specifically clutching Victor’s trench coat, his hands fisting the fabric. Victor shifts closer, and Yuuri buries his face in his shoulder, because he can’t be seen,  _can’t be seen,_  because if he can’t be seen, maybe this will be anonymous, maybe Victor will forget that this is Yuuri, the student who had just failed him miserably. Maybe, maybe, maybe they can pretend that this isn’t real.

There’s a shushing, a hand on his back. It reminds him of his mother and he cries harder, the tears unashamed now, the breathing wracking his entire body, each exhalation making him convulse, body shifting closer to Victor’s. “Yuuri, you’re okay,” Victor is mumbling. “You’re okay.”

He wants desperately to stop, wants desperately to pick himself up off of the ground, brush off his knees and walk back into the rink, pretend as though nothing had happened.

(But he’s not Phichit.)

(He’s not Christophe, he’s not Yurio. He’s not Michele or Sara or Mila or Georgi or JJ or any of them.)

“I know,” Victor is mumbling, and Yuuri realizes he must have said some of that out loud, but he’s not sure what parts, and he’s not sure why Victor is still here, why he’s sitting in a dirty alleyway with him. “I know you’re not. And that’s good.”

His bones ache, sink.

Victor picks him up, one arm underneath his knees and the other around his upper back, cradling him. Like a child, Yuuri thinks bitterly, but he’s still crying into Victor’s shoulder, is still dressed in his costume, is still miserable. “You’re freezing,” Victor tells him. “I’m taking you back to the hotel room.”

If he wants to argue, he can’t. If he wants to move, he can’t.

His teeth chatter.

His hands still grip Victor’s jacket, knuckles paling and fingers reddening. There are words, English or Russian he can’t tell, the syllables muffled and tying together in his mind. But they’re getting closer to the hotel, now, and Yuuri struggles in his arms, lands on his feet and collapses back onto the ground in a sitting position. Victor seems to understand what he wants, helping him back up and wrapping an arm around his shoulder to support him instead of carrying him.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri whispers to him.

Victor doesn’t seem to hear him.

There’s a door, then bright lights, then Victor is saying something to someone, then he’s still, so Yuuri stills, too, clinging to his coat. “We’re in the elevator,” he tells Yuuri gently after a moment. “Almost there, okay? I told room service to bring hot tea.”

“Hot tea,” Yuuri repeats dreamily, imagining that. His rugged breaths slow, still abnormally quick but less desperate and more defeated, eyes still producing a steady stream of tears, anxiety still nipping at the corners of his mind, at the edge of every thought, accenting them, coloring them, inescapable.

With that, he shudders again and stops trying to hide, lets himself sink against Victor, both arms around his side, ugly emotions bearing their heads. When the doors slide open, they sound far away, but Victor steps through them with ease, speaking too-quiet words once again.

A bed.

Soft sheets, a pillow underneath him. Something lifts him up, and then the sheets are on top of him instead, cold to the touch. He shivers, bringing his hands to his lips and breathing on them, desperate to regain sensation. Somebody else’s fingers cover his own, warm, so warm, but Yuuri can’t bring himself to open his eyes, buries his face in the pillow instead, tries to recover control. He grasps at the fingers desperately, tries to steal some of the heat.

“Was it the jump?” Victor asks.

That brings back the tears, brings back the wheezing.

It’s hideous, and  _he’s_  hideous, but Victor is touching him anyway, a hand on his back. He’s still holding Victor’s other hand, and he feels like he should let go, but he doesn’t. “Yuuri, it happens to everyone.”

A lie.

He hates the feeling of Victor lying to him, hates the feeling of Victor having to try and comfort him. Turns on his side, tries to escape his touch despite the physical serenity it provides. “Not you.”

Victor sighs, shifting closer and continuing to rub his shoulder.

This time, Yuuri doesn’t pull away.

Because his hand works his shoulder blade, fingers digging into it, and Yuuri could cry with how good it feels, how perfect it is, the tension and stress dissipating from that spot, his body melting into the sheets. “Please…” Yuuri starts, the word cut off when he bites his tongue, chastising himself.

“Please what? Tell me.” His accent is thicker than usual and Yuuri blinks, fresh tears staining the white sheets.

“Please keep doing that,” he whispers pathetically, hating every word as it comes out of his mouth, losing himself in Victor’s touch.

He doesn’t see the nod, but he can imagine it. “Do you want to talk?”

Yuuri doesn’t answer—doesn’t know how to answer.

Victor’s other hand joins the first, leaving Yuuri’s fingers, moving to his other shoulder, and Yuuri’s breath catches, body starting to catch up with his mind, exhaustion starting to kick in. “Listen, Yuuri,” Victor starts, sounding unsure. “I know I’m not… You should know that you can talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Yuuri tells him, because there’s not. They both know what had happened. They both know why Yuuri is here, now, a pathetic mess in his hotel room bed, and they know why Victor is sitting beside him, wasting his precious time massaging his shoulders in a stupid attempt to make him feel better when he should just leave.

Victor clicks his tongue. “I disagree. I think there’s a lot to talk about. For one, you should know that I  _did_  mess up jumps.”

He turns at that, still curled on his side, just enough to check Victor’s eyes to see if he’s bluffing.

There’s a smile on his coach’s lips, gentle, reassuring. “What, did you think I landed every jump all the time?”

Yuuri nods, faces the pillow once again.

“I don’t,” Victor says. “I never have. In fact, that exact same thing has happened to me on a triple salchow in practice.”

“In practice,” Yuuri repeats, though he does have to admit Victor’s words are working, does have to admit that his breathing is starting to return to normal, the worst of the panic attack over with. Now he’s just left with a general feeling of depression, a despair that is heavily set in his heart and lungs, like a reminder.

“Of course, I messed up a quadruple salchow in a competition,” Victor adds.

One of his hands leaves Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri is about to protest until Victor’s fingers weave through his hair instead, stroking it back and out of his face, the motion repeated and done slower each time. Yuuri shifts closer to him, head bumping against Victor’s thigh, and purses his lips, turning his head so that he can breathe instead of having his face pressed against the sheets.

Victor’s words are quiet. “Yakov wanted it to be a triple—but I was young, and I refused. My first attempt at a quad in a competition, and I’d failed it miserably.”

“That’s different,” Yuuri responds, sniffing.

“How?”

“You’re Victor Nikiforov,” he reminds him, then sneezes. “Your mess-ups are better than most people’s successes.”

Victor laughs at that, and his hand moves slightly lower to the hairs on the nape of Yuuri’s neck. “That’s not true.”

Yuuri meets his eyes again, indignant. “Of course it is.”

“Why’s that?”

He can’t tell if Victor truly doesn’t understand what he means or if this is just some roundabout way of trying to make Yuuri feel better. “Because when you fall on the ice, it’s not a defeat. It’s a mistake, and you learn from your mistakes, get back up, and everybody is rooting for you twice as hard as they had been before.”

Victor smiles at him.

(Smiles.)

Yuuri doesn’t understand the look of amusement on his face, wants to wipe it off. This isn’t funny, this isn’t a joke to be made fun of.

“Repeat that,” Victor encourages.

“I said that when…” he starts, then realizes what Victor means and shuts his eyes with frustration. “It’s… No, I was talking about  _you._  It’s different for me.”

Victor sighs and pushes on his arm. “Move over.”

He does, and Victor lays down beside him, Yuuri’s head now a few inches away from his shoulder. Victor’s hand had pulled away from his hair and Yuuri embarrassingly isn’t sure if he can handle the loss, so he gives him a look that he hopes Victor will interpret correctly. Luckily, the other man seems to understand, resuming the comforting gesture.

“It’s the same for you, Yuuri,” Victor mumbles. “Exactly what you said. It’s not a defeat, it’s a mistake. And mistakes can have positive outcomes.”

Yuuri searches for an argument, a comeback, but falls flat. He blames it on his exhaustion, but in reality he realizes that Victor had just made him outplay himself. He’s not sure if he’s pompous or a genius. Both, perhaps.

Then there’s a knock on the door, and Yuuri burrows underneath the blankets while Victor answers it. Then, his coach is helping him sit up, handing him a white mug. “It’s hot,” he warns.

It’s soothing, burning, and Yuuri hadn’t realized that his fingers were still trembling until he’d tried to hold the cup still. Victor watches him carefully, eyebrows drawn together. Yuuri sputters a bit at the first sip, and there’s a hand on his arm instantly, supporting him. He tries again and gets a better mouthful the second time, eyes falling shut with pleasure.

“Good?” Victor guesses.

Yuuri nods, taking a longer sip, heat spreading all the way down to his toes.

“Take it slow,” his coach urges.

When half of the cup is gone, Yuuri sets it on the nightstand and curls up underneath the sheets again. In an instant, Victor is back by his side, hand on his hair, and Yuuri takes in a sharp breath, emotions threatening to run rampant. “Victor?”

The reply is almost silent. “Yes?”

“Is it okay if… Could we…?”

Victor cuddles against him, chest flush against his back.

“Thank you.”

Victor doesn’t answer, just wraps one arm around his torso, hand splayed on his abdomen, making gentle, circular motions. “Do you want to shower? Or do you want more tea?”

“Shower,” Yuuri answers. “But not yet.”

“Not yet,” Victor agrees. There’s a pause. “You know that I wasn’t upset about your performance today, right?”

Yuuri doesn’t believe that for a second.

“Yes, as your coach I was disappointed by the fact that you missed the jump, but I wasn’t upset about your  _performance._  You skated your heart out, and your interpretation score reflected that, Yuuri. I couldn’t have been more proud.”

He turns around in Victor’s arms and hugs him tight, burying his face in the other man’s neck. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.” It only takes a second for the tears to come back, but they’re for a different reason this time, and he swipes desperately at them, not wanting to ruin Victor’s clothes any more than he already had.

“Don’t thank me,” Victor says, pulling Yuuri on top of him so that his head is resting on his chest, keeping both arms around his back, clutching him tight.

“Thank you,” Yuuri just repeats, eyes drifting shut.

He showers a few minutes later, but when he climbs back into bed, Victor instantly climbs in beside him, resuming their earlier position without a word. He kisses Yuuri’s hair, lips lingering there. “Goodnight, Yuuri.”

Yuuri answers with a yawn, shifting on top of him.

And for the first time since the salchow, he doesn’t feel inadequate.


	14. dog catching 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Victor and Yurio find a homeless dog on the street, they decide to take him to an animal shelter. Then, Victor finds an unconventional way to impress the cute employee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [dog catching 101](https://actualyuuri.tumblr.com/post/156604803739/dog-catching-101)  
>  length: 4.5k  
> rating: all ages  
> warnings: none  
> summary: When Victor and Yurio find a homeless dog on the street, they decide to take him to an animal shelter. Then, Victor finds an unconventional way to impress the cute employee.

“But look at his  _eyes._ ”

Yurio looks into the dog eyes. In fact, he looks into them so long that Victor wonders if they’ve having a silent, exclusive conversation. “Victor, you can’t keep the dog.”

Victor pouts. He’s not sure why he’s listening to the advice of a fifteen-year-old, and the more and more he pets the poodle’s soft fur, the more and more blurry the reasons become. “But he’s  _so_  cute.”

“We’ll take him to a shelter,” Yurio suggests. “They’ll find him a nice family.”

They’d already determined that the poodle doesn’t belong to anyone. They’d found him wandering the streets of Hasetsu, fur mangled but his eyes large and brown, friendly. There’s a gnat on his nose. Victor loves him all the same.

“We could be his nice family,” Victor insists. “He could come to competitions with us! Can you imagine?”

Yurio pulls out his phone and types in something.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for the nearest vet. Your lifestyle is too erratic for a dog, you know that. My grandpa would end up having to look after him.”

Victor pats the dog on the head again. It’s probably not a good idea, as he may be carrying diseases, but he could care less right now. And it’s as though the dog is begging for Victor to take him home. “We’ll take him to the vet, then decide.”

“Deal.”

~

The veterinarians clean and cut the dog’s hair, and he looks like a brand new poodle. Victor takes him into his arms and hugs him tight, the dog wagging his tail. “He’s perfect,” he sighs. “Soft and lovely.”

As they sit in the waiting room while the vets perform finishing tests, Yurio lists out the reasons Victor shouldn’t keep the dog. And it’s logical. And objective. And doesn’t take into account the delightful way that the dog raises his ears when he’s happy.

But he concedes.

They walk the dog back to the car, then Yurio uses his phone to guide them to the nearest no-kill animal shelter.

“If they don’t seem nice here, we take the dog home,” Victor reminds Yurio.

Yurio nods. “Got it.”

He pushes open the large doors to the animal shelter. Yes, it’s clean. Yes, there are shelves upon shelves of animal supplies that look acceptable. Maybe, just  _maybe,_  this will be okay.

“Hi, welcome to the Yu-topia animal shelter,” a voice rings out.

Victor turns to his left. So does Yurio.

There’s a man standing there, black hair, a smile on his lips, eyes practically attaching to Victor. Victor blinks. “Hello.”

“Hi,” the employee repeats.

“We found a dog,” Yurio announces loudly.

He hurries over and takes the leash out of Victor’s hand, kneeling down and examining the dog. “He’s been to the vet?”

Victor nods. “We took him a minute ago.”

He can’t help but notice that the employee is attractive.

(As in, stunningly attractive.)

(As in, making-Victor’s-knees-weak attractive.)

Especially as he pets the dog, scratching him being the ears and smiling brightly when the dog sits down obediently, tapping his foot. “Who’s a good boy?” the man asks, then glances up at Victor and Yurio. “Thank you for bringing him. We’ll take good care of him here.”

“Can I look around?” Victor asks, still not convinced.

(That’s not necessarily true. He’s pretty sure he could easily be convinced by anything that this man says to him. However, he does want to see the facility, even if it is just to spend more time with the attractive employee. Is that so wrong?)

The man smiles and stands up. “Sure. I’m Yuuri, by the way.”

“Victor,” he says, shaking his hand. He doesn’t let go. Lingers for too long. Yuuri starts blushing, and Victor lets out a breathless laugh, because Yuuri’s blush is possibly cuter than the dog. Which is saying something.

They get a tour from Yuuri and his sister, Mari, who co-runs the shelter. The dog kennels are clean and large, nothing like the horrible kennels that are shown in those sad commercials that Victor always has to turn off. There’s a play area in the back with a few dogs running around, attended by another employee. Yuuri excitedly talks about each and every dog that they pet, telling Victor their name, where they’d been found, what they like.

(Victor listens, captivated.)

“And you founded this place?” he asks when the tour is over and they’re standing in the lobby, Makkachin having been given to Mari for another bath. The vet had already given him one, but Yuuri insists that it’s just policy before he can play with the other dogs.

“Me and my sister, yeah,” Yuuri answers shyly. “We just really like animals.”

Victor isn’t sure that it’s possible for him to get any more adorable. “So do I. We wanted to keep him today, but we’re figure skaters, and we travel a lot.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. You know, if you really wanted him, you could make it work. I’ve had people adopt who are frequent fliers and they manage it. Not that I’m trying to convince you—I’m just talking. We’re happy to take him.”

“Yeah?” Victor asks.

Yuuri nods. “Definitely.”

They stare at each other for a second, and Victor finds himself lost in his eyes, large and sparkling. Then his gaze drifts down to his lips, curved up into a tiny smile, a bit reserved but still genuine, and Victor licks his own unconsciously. Then Yurio yells something from the other side of the room and he snaps out of it.

“I’ve never met a figure skater before,” Yuuri notes. “That must be an exciting life.”

Victor shrugs. “It’s good, if you like traveling.”

They look at each other again, then Yuuri shifts his weight to his left foot. “So how long will you be in town for?”

“Oh, a few weeks. We’re training here before a competition.”

Yuuri bites his lip, nodding.

“Maybe we could come back and visit Makkachin.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Makkachin?”

Victor runs a hand through his hair. “Er, I might’ve named him subconsciously.”

The employee laughs and mimics the action, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. “A dog is ten times harder to leave after you’ve named it.”

“Is that so?”

He nods. “I once had a guy come in here and drop off a dog, who he had spent the day with and named, and he came back ten minutes later and adopted him.”

“Wow, that’s some weak willpower. I think mine might be weaker, though.”

Yuuri laughs again and glances back towards the kennels. “Anyway, I’d better go, I’ve got a lot of work to do. It was great to meet you.” He pauses. “And maybe… Maybe you’ll come by again? With your weak willpower?”

“Ten minutes is the time to beat,” Victor jokes, grinning at him.

“I believe in you.”

He points at the clock. “Take note of the time.”

“I will.”

~

“He was gorgeous,” Victor sighs the moment they’re back in the car, because he cannot, under any circumstances, get those brown eyes out of his head. He’s pretty certain if his memory were to be wiped, those eyes would still remain.

He tells Yurio these thoughts, and the blond skater just rolls his eyes. “Why didn’t you ask him for his number then, nitwit?”

Victor doesn’t want to admit that he hadn’t exactly thought of that. He’d been so caught up in his lips, his eyelashes, his smile, that all thoughts of a way to communicate with him in the future had flown out the window. “We could come back to visit Makkachin.”

“You named the dog?”

“Sure.”

Yurio sighs. “I guess you’re keeping him, then. It’s only a matter of time.”

~

They’re at the rink a few days later, practicing, when Victor spots a dog out of the window.

Before Yurio can blink, Victor has darted out of the doors.

“I think he’s lost!” he calls.

Yurio takes off his skates and exits the building clad only in his socks. “Victor, this again?”

“We can’t leave him,” he mutters, looking down at the small white dog.

Yakov glares at both of them through the window.

~

A few hours later, they’re back at the animal shelter.

Sure enough, Yuuri is there.

“You found another dog?” he asks, surprised.

“Ironic, isn’t it? Can I see Makkachin?”

Yuuri takes him to see Makkachin in the play area, and Victor throws a ball around with him for a while. Yuuri sits with him, taking an early break, and laughs at the sight of Victor letting Makkachin lick his face. “Makka, no,” he complains lovingly as the dog sits down on top of him. Victor glances over at Yuuri for sympathy but receives none.

“Looks like you’re stuck,” he points out as he takes another bite of his sandwich.

Victor runs his fingers through Makkachin’s fur. “Not the worst possible spot to be stuck. I would get to spend all day with adorable dogs.”

“A true tragedy,” Yuuri jokes, placing his sandwich down and sitting down beside Victor on the floor, petting Makkachin.

Victor is petting him, too, and their fingers brush.

There’s an electric shock.

Yuuri laughs. “I think his fur is static-y.”

“Guess so. Here, let’s test.”

Victor brushes his fingers against Yuuri’s again, except there’s no shock. Yuuri’s cheeks flush pink, and Victor doesn’t move, chocolate-brown eyes rising to meet his.

(Except Makkachin moves.)

(Victor loves the dog, yes, but in this particular moment he hadn’t been particularly helpful.)

Yuuri laughs as Makkachin chooses to lick his face instead, tackling him with his front two paws. His hands clutch his stomach as he keeps laughing, the dog showering him in love. It’s possibly the sweetest thing Victor has ever seen, and he decides then and there that not only does he want to take Makkachin home, but he wants to take Yuuri home, too.

But then Yuuri’s break ends.

And he’s greeting a couple looking to adopt.

(But he gives a little wave to Victor as he leaves with Yurio.)

(And Victor feels his heart flutter.)

“I think I’m in love,” Victor declares.

Yurio sighs as he sits down in shotgun. “You’re not in love. It has been two days.”

“But he’s  _perfect._ ”

“Just drive, Victor. We need to talk about my short program, anyway. We’re both competing soon, remember? Remember that we’re figure skaters?”

~

“I’m going to head out early, Yakov,” Victor announces a few days later, pulling his skates off of his feet.

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer, just puts on his normal sneakers and heads out the doors. “See you tomorrow!”

Victor heads downtown.

(In the back of his mind, he knows what he’s looking for. In the forefront of his mind, however, he insists that he’s just going for a walk.)

He whistles as he walks, glancing down alleys.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out. “Hello?”

“Victor, did you seriously ditch practice three hours early to look for lost dogs?”

“What?” he asks, feigning surprise. “That’s ridiculous.”

“ _Victor._ ”

He remembers the way Yuuri’s face had lit up both times he’d brought a dog to the shelter. Smiles dreamily at the memories. “I’m just going for a walk.”

It takes four hours.

(But he finds a dog.)

She’s cold, and he wraps his coat around her, thanking every deity possible that she’s friendly, too, because if he keeps this up, it won’t be long before he has rabies. He’s on the phone with Yakov as he takes her into his car, because  _yes, Yakov, this is important,_ and  _no, Yakov, I don’t want to jeopardize my career because of a cute animal shelter employee._

It’s late when he arrives at the vet, pays for the services—it’s certainly not inexpensive—and takes the dog to the shelter.

Yuuri doesn’t look happy this time, nor sad, just shocked.

Downright shocked.

“Um, you found a third dog?”

Victor grins as he hands him the leash. “Isn’t she cute?”

It takes Yuuri a moment until it seems to sink in, a smile fluttering on his lips as he looks at Victor and then at the dog. “Yeah, she is. Wow, you must, um, attract dogs.”

“I guess so,” he muses.

Victor spends the rest of the afternoon helping Yuuri and Mari give the dogs dinner.

He sees Makkachin in his kennel, gives him a loving rub. Yuuri lets him take the poodle out into the play area, watching as they get into a heated tug-of-war battle and laughing when Victor loses. “Too strong for you?” he asks.

Victor winks. “I let him win, obviously.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did,” Yuuri teases, voice layered with sarcasm. He sits down beside Victor and Victor hands him one end of the rope, silently daring him to try.

Makkachin is strong.

Perhaps Yuuri hadn’t anticipated that, or perhaps he’d simply thought he was stronger—whatever the reason, Yuuri falls on top of Victor and lets go of the rope. It takes a moment for Victor to realize what had happened, why Yuuri is currently laying in his lap, but as soon as he realizes what had happened he’s laughing, clutching at his ribs with one hands.

Yuuri pokes him in the chest. “Not funny.”

“Completely funny,” Victor insists.

They end up playing tug-of-war with each other, Makkachin barking at them, as though confused as to why he hadn’t been invited. Victor puts up a good fight, but Yuuri pulls away, victorious. “Not very strong arms for a competitive athlete, huh?”

“Strong legs,” he points out.

“Oh, I bet.”

He grins as Makkachin sits down on top of him. Mari comes over to them, glances between them. “Yuuri, we’re about to close up.”

Yuuri licks his lips and looks back at Victor. “Thanks for bringing another dog today. She’ll find a good home, too—I promise.”

Victor nods, trusting him.

“We’re actually… There’s going to be an adoption event two Saturdays from now, in the morning. I don’t know if… You’re probably busy…”

“I can go,” Victor says.

It’s not true. He performs his short program Saturday afternoon. But, well, he could afford to stop by for a few hours in the morning, couldn’t he? Sure, Yakov will murder him, but isn’t it worth it?

Yuuri smiles brightly.

(It’s worth it, he decides.)

(Everything is worth it. He would gladly miss the entire competition if it meant seeing that smile again.)

“Okay, I’ll see you then?” Yuuri asks.

Victor nods enthusiastically. “See you then. If not before.”

~

“Please tell me you’re not going dog hunting today,” Yurio sighs.

Victor has to admit that as he drives them to the rink, his eyes do wander aimlessly along the edges of the road and he’s constantly readjusting the car’s trajectory. It’s day, though, and the sidewalks are filled, so surely he won’t find a dog. Which is both good and bad, because of course a dog being homeless is a tragedy, but also not being with Katsuki Yuuri is a tragedy.

“There’s an adoption event the Saturday after next,” Victor says.

Yurio glares at him. Victor doesn’t look at him while driving, but he can  _feel_  it. “You can’t go, obviously.”

“I’m going.”

“That’s the day of the competition. You’re kidding, right?”

Victor frowns. “I have free will, I can do what I like.”

“Yakov will have your head,” Yurio reminds him. Then he sighs. “But do what you like, I guess. Just know that you’re insane.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

~

There are no dogs for the next few days.

But Saturday, one week before the adoption event, Yakov is focusing most of his attention on Yurio’s long program and getting a few last-minute kinks out, and Victor wants a walk.

So he goes for a walk.

First, he finds a black-haired dog of an unknown breed in a park. Turns out that the dog’s owner is sitting on a nearby bench, and said owner stares at Victor with suspicious, narrowed eyes. Victor hurries away before she arrests him for trying to kidnap her dog.

Then, though, he finds a blond dog on his way back to the rink. Wonders about Hasetsu’s animal control department, or lack thereof. He heads to the vet, then to the shelter, and these last few days are really taking a toll on his bank account but he’s surprised by how little he cares.

“You’re kidding,” Yuuri says when he enters.

Victor grins at him, loving the way a smile spreads across Yuuri’s features, too, as though he can’t help it. “I think dogs like me,” he says, considering staying in Hasetsu and doing this for the rest of his life if it makes Yuuri happy.

“Are you sure you’re not, like, skipping your figure skating practices and going on crazy dog hunts instead?”

He freezes in place.

(Then Yuuri starts laughing.)

(Then Yuuri realizes that he’s not laughing.)

“You’re not… You’re not actually doing that, are you?”

“No, no, of course not,” Victor insists. “We just, um, drive around a lot. Hasetsu has a real homeless dog problem.”

~

He follows Yuuri around while he works, help out where he can. Yuuri doesn’t seem to be annoyed, which he’s thankful for. At some point, he can’t reach something up on a tall shelf, and Victor volunteers, getting on his tippy toes and reaching for the roll of paper towels before an impromptu teasing session begins. Yuuri rolls his eyes and shoves him in the chest, making Victor shove him back.

It turns out Yuuri is ticklish.

(Very ticklish.)

“Stop, stop,” he’s begging as Victor touches his ribs, getting revenge. Yuuri shoves him off eventually and then takes the roll of paper towels and whacks him on the head with it again and again. Victor can’t stop laughing, either, eyes watering as Yuuri uselessly hits him.

Then someone clears their throat.

“Oh, hi Mari. We were just about to go clean the baths,” Yuuri squeaks.

Mari looks unimpressed.

Victor catches his breath before sitting up. Mari leaves, and Yuuri looks horrified, ears tinted red. Victor smiles softly at him, and Yuuri relaxes a bit, laughing again. “I won, by the way.”

Victor shakes his head adamantly. “Absolutely not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too. And you’re helping me clean the baths,” he claims, grabbing a spray bottle and handing it to Victor.

“Did not. And only if you admit that I won.”

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

“Deal.”

~

“I can’t help but feel like you’re distracted,” Yakov says.

“No clue what you’re talking about,” Victor responds as he presses down on the ice with his toe pick. “I am completely, one-hundred percent focused.”

(He wonders if Yuuri’s favorite color is blue. He certainly wears a lot of blue, and most of the dogs there have blue collars, so it would make sense. His favorite food is katsudon, Victor had already learned that. But what about his favorite animal? Oh, right—dogs, probably. That would also make sense.)

“Vitya.”

He blinks. “Yes?”

“Did you hear what I just said?”

Victor purses his lips, shakes his head.

Yakov pinches the bridge of his nose. “If you’re not focused, you’re not going to win this season. Do you really want to give up your sixth consecutive win at the Grand Prix Final because you can’t succeed at a qualifying competition?”

“By the way, I won’t be able to practice Saturday morning.”

(Judging by the look on Yakov’s face, Victor figures this probably wasn’t the best time to tell him that.)

He gets scolded in Russian for the next hour, then is told to run five laps around the outer edge of the rink. Yurio smirks, amused, as he eats a nutrition bar. “Just remember, you’re running for Yuuri,” he teases.

~

A few days later, he finds another dog.

Then another on Thursday.

Friday, one more.

It takes longer and longer each time, but he’s also more determined each time, because Yuuri looks more and more impressed, even squeezing his forearm at one point and grinning at him, eyes sparkling. Victor captures the memory, loves it, wants to feel that feeling again and again and again.

(So he keeps looking. And looking.)

It’s a little ridiculous, yes.

Yurio calls it “extra.”

(Victor still isn’t sure what that term means.)

~

Saturday, the day of the competition, Yakov insists that he stays.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he makes his way to the park the near the animal shelter, and he has to leave Hasetsu in two days, and the very thought is already breaking him.

There are short fences set up with dogs inside, barking and wagging their tails at anyone who walks past. Yuuri, Mari, and several other employees have clipboards in their hands, and there are tiny signs near each dog providing details about them. The moment Yuuri catches sight of Victor, he runs up and hugs him.

Victor didn’t know what happiness was until he’d had a hug from Katsuki Yuuri.

Because he’s warm, inviting—ducks his nose into Victor’s shoulder in the most adorable way possible, and his voice is muffled as he thanks him for coming. Victor shuts his eyes, too, not wanting to let go, taking in the scent of his cologne and blue button-up shirt. Blue. His favorite color  _must_ be blue.

“Of course I came,” he assures him. “I can’t stay too long, though. I’m competing this afternoon.”

Yuuri blinks. “Your competition is today?”

“Mhmm.” He looks over at Makkachin’s pen and sees the dog staring at him expectantly. Victor makes his way over to pet him.

“And… And you’re here? Isn’t that, um… I mean, I don’t know much about figure skating, but…?”

Victor shrugs. “It’s fine. Just a qualifying competition. And I’ll qualify.”

Yuuri smiles. “Cocky, are we?”

“Very much so.”

He laughs and places a hand on the edge of Makkachin’s pen. “Somebody might adopt him today. Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

It’s a whimsical decision.

“I’ll take him,” Victor decides.

Even Yuuri looks surprised. “Really? Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

~

He watches as Yuuri talks enthusiastically about each dog, customer after customer walking away with a newly adopted pet. At some point, Mari hands Victor a clipboard and tells him to do something useful instead of just drooling over Yuuri, so he begins to help out, too.

Then his phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Victor, get the hell over here right now.”

Victor hangs up, bites his lip. Yuuri has a free moment, is drinking from a bottle of water. “Can I talk to you?” he asks.

Yuuri nods. “Sure, what’s going on?”

He cups Yuuri’s cheek with his hand, his thumb brushes against his temple.

Brown eyes look up at him through dark lashes, pink lips parting. Victor brushes some of his hair back for him, offering a small smile. Yuuri smiles back, blushing, and licks his lips absent-mindedly. Victor does, too.

He leans forward and kisses Yuuri on the cheek. His skin is soft, warm.

The moment he pulls away, though, Yuuri reaches up on his tippy-toes and kisses Victor on the lips instead. And it’s chaste, swift, but Victor feels his heart skip a beat, feels himself sinking into the grass. “You… You just…” he starts, wide-eyed.

A hand flies up to cover Yuuri’s mouth. “Sorry. I thought you… I thought… I just wanted to say thank you. For coming, I mean. It means a lot to me. Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay, I’m just surprised,” Victor blurts.

His weight shifts from one foot to the other. “Um, good luck at your competition.”

“Thanks. Good luck with this.”

There’s a pause.

Victor stares at his lips.

Wonders how much warmer they’d be if the kiss lasted longer than a second. Wonders how much softer his hair would feel if he’d kept his fingers in it, weaved them through the strands.

“Wait here,” Yuuri says suddenly.

Victor does.

(Isn’t sure he could move if he wanted to.)

He watches as Yuuri says something quick to Mari. She hesitates, then nods, and then Yuuri is holding his hand.

(Yuuri is holding his hand.)

“I’m going to come to your competition,” he promises. “You can come get Makkachin afterwards, Mari won’t let anybody else adopt him.”

“You’re sure it’s okay?” Victor asks.

“Yeah, she said so.”

~

Victor is in first after his short program. Yuuri is grinning brightly at him, and he takes him into his arms, twirling him around. “What’d you think?” he asks.

Yuuri laughs. “I had no idea what was happening, honestly, but it looked really good.”

“ _It_  looked really good, or  _I_  looked really good?” Victor teases.

He shoves him in the chest again, and Victor shoves him back, then wraps his arms around him, holding him closer. Yuuri chuckles. “You’re sort of giving me mixed signals.”

“Would you visit me in Russia sometime?” Victor asks.

They’ve only known each other for a few weeks.

It’s insane.

He knows it’s insane.

Yuuri knows it’s insane.

“Would you visit me in Japan?” Yuuri responds, toying with the sleeve of his costume.

He nods. “When I can.”

“Then I’ll visit you when I can,” he decides. “But until then, you’ll have Makkachin to remember me by.”

“Visit quickly, for Makkachin’s sake,” Victor mumbles, kissing him on the cheek again. “Wouldn’t want him to be upset from missing you, now would we?”

“Not at all,” Yuuri teases back. “Take good care of him?”

“Of course I will. And I’ll be on the lookout for any stray dogs.”

Yuuri bites his lip. “You know where to take them.”

“Mm. All the way back to Hasetsu. No other animal shelter will do.”

“Why’s that?”

Victor kisses his forehead. “No cute employees in Russian animal shelters.”

“I didn’t know you liked my sister so much.”

Victor makes a face. Yuuri laughs and hugs him again.

~

A few days later, he says a final goodbye to Yuuri.

Then, a few months later, he happens to be back in Japan. Tokyo, yes, but it’s close enough, so he takes the time to visit Hasetsu. He puts on a baseball cap and heads into the animal shelter, glancing around.

“Hi, welcome to the Yu-top—wait.”

Victor takes off the hat and grins.

Yuuri leaps into his arms.

He hugs him tight. “Missed you. Makkachin is in the car, I didn’t want to give away the surprise.”

Yuuri practically sprints out of the shelter.

He opens the car door and laughs as Makkachin knocks him over onto the grass, peppering his cheeks with kisses. “Makka, I missed you!” he exclaims. “How long are you in town for?”

“A few more weeks,” Victor promises.

Yuuri stands up and cups both of his cheeks, kissing him firmly, longer than before. Victor melts into it, eyes falling shut and body moving unconsciously closer to him, chests pressed against each other. One of his hands moves to Yuuri’s hair, fingers carding through the strands, and Yuuri sighs underneath him. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

Victor keeps their foreheads pressed together, breaths coming quick. “So have I.”

“Want to go meet the new dogs?” Yuuri asks.

(That phrase is possibly the most seductive one Victor has ever heard.)

“Of course.”


	15. special instructions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Victor instructs a pizza company to send their cutest delivery boy and Yuuri Katsuki shows up at his door, he’s suddenly struck with an insatiable hunger for pizza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [special instructions](https://actualyuuri.tumblr.com/post/159307098104/how-about-an-au-where-yuuri-is-a-pizza-delivery)  
>  length: 2.5k  
> rating: all ages  
> warnings: none  
> summary: When Victor instructs a pizza company to send their cutest delivery boy and Yuuri Katsuki shows up at his door, he’s suddenly struck with an insatiable hunger for pizza.

_Send your cutest delivery boy._

Yurio raises an eyebrow at the online pizza order form on Victor’s computer screen, then snickers. “The field says  _Special Instructions,_  not  _how can we help you get a boyfriend?_  You’re seriously going to put that?”

Victor shrugs one shoulder and tilts his chair back. “Why not?”

“They’ll ignore the instructions,” Yurio points out. “Either that or they’ll throw the pizza in our faces.”

Before Yurio can further protest, Victor hits the large, red  _Order_  button.

Then, they continue playing video games. They’ve made their way about halfway through the Borderlands 2 co-op campaign, even though Victor continually insists that this game is far, far too violent for Yurio’s young and innocent mind. He’s also easily distracted, much to the annoyance of Yurio—Makkachin will whine and Victor will immediately set down the controller, causing the blond to glare at him until he has picked it back up again.

The doorbell rings.

“My cute delivery boy is here,” Victor jokes, and Yurio rolls his eyes.

He fixes his hair, tries to make himself look presentable—it’s more to annoy Yurio than it is to spruce himself up for the pizza guy. In the distance, Yurio provides another groan. Then, Victor leans against the wall in front of the door, money in his hand and a winning smile on his lips. He swings it open, prepared to—

“Hi, um, I have one cheese pizza here. That’ll be…” He meets Victor’s eyes, just briefly, and seems to lose his words. “That’ll be, um, money.”

(Victor admires the customer service that this particular pizza company offers.)

(Because they had, in fact, sent their cutest delivery boy.)

(No—scratch that, not their cutest delivery boy.)

(The cutest boy to ever live, probably.)

He has black hair that looks like it’d be heaven to touch, large glasses propped up on his nose covering mocha irises. His cheeks are pink, just slightly, and there’s a coat tugged over his red t-shirt, which has the logo of the pizza company stamped on it.

There’s a name tag.  _Yuuri._

“It’ll cost money?” Victor repeats, his smile growing warmer, now.

Yuuri shakes his head. “What?”

“The pizza. The pizza that you’re holding.”

He glances down at the box, as though he’d forgotten that they were there. “Yes, it’ll… It’ll cost money. Er, you need to know how much. Hang on, I…”

“Here,” Victor offers, and takes the box out of his hands, setting it on the nearest table. Then, he resumes his leaning against the wall, trying to look casual despite the fact that his heart is about to beat out of his chest because Yuuri is fumbling in his pocket and looking gorgeously flustered while doing so.

He hands him a receipt, not bothering to say the amount out loud, and Victor ends up just handing over the entire wad of cash, anyway. When Yuuri starts to make change, Victor shakes his head. His eyes widen at the amount, but he just swallows and puts it into his pocket. “Thanks.”

“No problem. You can tell the pizza place that they did a fantastic job.”

Yuuri laughs nervously. “B-but how do you know? You haven’t tasted it yet.”

Victor doesn’t say anything.

He’s biting his lip, now. “Not that I don’t think it’ll be good. They—we—we put a lot of effort into our pizza. It’s… I’m sure you’ll like it. I was just saying… Um, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Victor tells him, and gets off of the wall, gripping the door with his right hand so that he’s standing closer to the cute employee. “I meant that they did well with the special instructions.”

“The special instructions?” Yuuri repeats, puzzled.

(Oh.)

“You don’t read the special instructions on the online forms?” Victor inquires.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just, er, given the address. Reading the orders—that job is for my coworkers, unless it’s something that I need to see.”

Victor stares.

He lets the information sink in.

Yurio approaches them and takes the pizza off of the small table in the foyer. Then, he pauses, and spares Yuuri a pitying glance. He scoffs. “I’m not sure if you should be complimented or insulted by the fact that they sent you.”

“What?” Yuuri asks, and glances between them. “Did you leave special instructions? Sorry, maybe they misread—”

“I told them to bring their cutest delivery boy,” Victor says, stunned.

Yuuri takes a few seconds to process the words. “You, so…  _Oh,_ ” he says, then, as though he’d just had an epiphany. “That was, oh my god, I’m so sorry, my friend told me to deliver this one to do him a favor and I guess he… Wow, this is awkward. Um, I’m sorry again—”

“Why are you sorry?” he asks as Yurio sets the pizza down on their kitchen counter, removing three slices from the box and stacking them on a paper plate.

Yuuri sucks in a breath, turning pink. “I just… I… Have a nice evening!” He’s gone a second later.

~

Two days later, Victor suggests that they order pizza again.

“I’m up for it,” Yurio says with a shrug as he reloads his gun in the game. “But you’re paying, since it’s your idea.”

He types those same five words into the  _Special Instructions_  field.

“They’re not sending him again,” Yurio mumbles under his breath when he sees. “I bet he’d even recognize the address. It was only two days ago. Not a chance he comes.”

Yet, sure enough, about twenty minutes later, Yuuri is at their door.

“Did they show you the special instructions this time?” Victor inquires, accepting the box from his hands.

Yuuri laughs, nods. “They did. My friend—Phichit—he thinks it’s funny. He sent me as a prank last time, I guess.”

“And you?” he asks, counting cash into his hand. “Do you think that it’s funny?”

He rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Um, I don’t know. I mean… It’s funny, sure, but it’d only work if we had supermodels working at Celestino’s, which we don’t.”

“Hmm. You’re  _sure_  you don’t have supermodels working there?” Victor asks, feigning confusion.

Yuuri shakes his head. “Nope, no supermodels.”

“This is painful to listen to,” Yurio tells them as he takes the pizza, and, as though it’s routine by now, grabs the first slice. “Pizza guy—whatever your name is, I can’t remember—he’s trying to flirt with you.”

“You’re trying to…” His face lights up with understanding. “Oh. You’re saying that I look like a… That I’m…”

“A supermodel, probably,” Victor answers, and hands him the money. “What did you say your friend’s name was, by the way?”

“Phichit,” he provides, voice squeaky.

“Phichit,” Victor repeats, thoughtful. “Thanks again for the pizza, Yuuri. See you soon?”

Yuuri smiles, does that thing where he bites his lip and ducks his head again, and Victor is living for it. “That’s up to you, really.”

“Well, I like pizza.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you soon.”

He chuckles, continues holding the door. Yuuri doesn’t step away.

“Bye,” Victor says.

“Bye. Oh, hang on, what’s your name?”

“Victor. Victor Nikiforov.” He extends his hand.

Yuuri shakes it. “Yuuri Katsuki.”

There’s a pause.

“I can’t even watch this,” Yurio complains from the kitchen.

“Okay, bye,” Victor says, and Yuuri waves bye, too, as he walks down the hallway. He shuts the door and then leans against it. “Do you want to order another pizza in an hour or so, by any chance?”

Yurio stares at him. “You’re serious?”

~

It’s Thursday night when he gives Yurio a call.

“Want to get through that boss battle in Cornerlands?” he asks, leaning against the arm of his couch, mind caught up in thoughts of Yuuri Katsuki with his endearing lip bite, with his perfect blush.

A beat passes.

“Victor, it’s called Borderlands.”

Victor clears his throat. He hadn’t known that. “Right, well, want to get through that boss battle in Borderlands? That game is very, uh… Thrilling.”

“You just want to order pizza again, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re paying,” Yurio commands, and then hangs up.

He arrives about ten minutes later, and then Victor prepares his phone. He’s going to call in their order this time, since there’s a chance that he’ll be able to spend even more time talking to Yuuri Katsuki than he’s normally allotted. He finds the number online and types it in, then waits.

“Hi, this is Celestino’s. Phichit speaking. How can I help you?”

_Phichit._

Phichit—Yuuri’s friend, Phichit.

“Hi,” he answers, and smiles brightly at Yurio. “Could I get one large Margherita pizza?”

Yurio scrunches up his nose. He grabs the phone. “And one large cheese pizza.”

“Two pizzas?” Victor asks, snatching the phone back.

“I don’t like Margherita pizza,” Yurio protests. “Besides, you’re the one who invited me, so let’s get two pizzas. You can afford it. I’ve seen your bank account.”

Victor sighs, presses the phone back against his ear. “Alright, one large cheese pizza and one large Margherita pizza.”

“Sounds good. I’ll need your name and address, please.”

He provides the information, then clears his throat. “Also, can I add a special request? Is Yuuri Katsuki working?”

There’s a long pause.

Victor thinks he hears speaking in the background.

“He’s working,” Phichit decides, and there’s a smile in his voice, now. “Is this the same guy who has been asking us to send our cutest delivery boy?”

“Phichit,” a growl says in the background, and Victor hears two people fighting over the phone. “Hi, this is Yuuri.”

“Yuuri, we’re starving over here,” Victor tells him, and he can’t stop grinning at the sound of his voice, can’t get over the flutters in his stomach. “Absolutely starving. Would you mind bringing us some pizza?”

“Me personally?”

He hums in agreement.

Another pause.

“Okay, give me, like, twenty minutes.”

~

“Two pizzas this time?” Yuuri asks, and this time there’s no hesitancy. He steps into their apartment and sets the boxes down on the table without being asked or prompted to.

There’s something about that small change that makes Victor’s chest feel warm. “Yurio doesn’t like Margherita pizza. Do you?”

Yuuri smiles at the blond, who ignores him. “I like Margherita pizza.” He returns his attention to Victor, accepts the money with a quiet thanks. “See you soon?”

_Want to have some?_

The words wait on his lips, but they’re never spoken.

“See you soon,” Victor says instead, and he wonders if this is what it’s like to have stars in one’s eyes, because he’s fairly certain that this adorable pizza boy could ask him to provide a five hundred dollar tip and he’d do so without hesitation.

~

“Yuuri doesn’t work today,” Phichit says when Victor calls on a Friday night and asks for a large cheese pizza.

“Oh,” Victor replies. “Well, have a nice evening—”

“You don’t want the pizza?” he asks, and this time there’s a teasing to Phichit’s voice, an understanding. “Just because Yuuri isn’t working?”

“I…”

Phichit laughs. “He works tomorrow afternoon.”

(If Victor does a fist pump, then nobody sees it.)

“He thinks you’re cute, by the way.”

At that, he feels his entire body stiffen. “What? He said that I’m—”

A dial tone.

(Curse Phichit.)

~

“You must really like pizza,” Yuuri says on Saturday. “This is the third time this week.”

“Do you have another delivery after this?” Victor asks as he pays him.

He glances at his wrist, as though checking a watch, but there’s nothing there. “Um, I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”

Victor taps his finger on his chin. “Yurio couldn’t come over today, and I don’t like eating all alone.” He sighs dramatically. “If only there were a cute pizza delivery boy who could eat and play video games with me.  _If only._ A tragedy worthy of the Greeks, don’t you think?”

“You want me to help you eat the pizza I just gave to you?”

He grins, because it’s not a rejection, because there’s an interest in Yuuri’s eyes. “You said you like Margherita pizza. And I seem to recall you saying that Celestino’s makes very, very high quality pizza. And Yurio would be very proud of me if I made progress on the Borderlands campaign without him.”

Yuuri’s eyes light up. “Borderlands?”

“You’ve played it?”

He nods, then shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I probably shouldn’t…” Victor feels himself sink. “…but maybe just one slice?”

~

(Turns out Yuuri Katsuki is a talented gamer.)

(Turns out, ironically, that he’s also a talented figure skater.)

(Victor is starting to wonder if all angels come in the form of pizza delivery boys. He thinks that they must.)

“This was fun, but Phichit can only cover for me for so long,” Yuuri says when they’ve defeated a boss. Well, when  _Yuuri_  had defeated a boss. Victor had more or less just sat there in awe of Yuuri’s gaming abilities and let him do ninety-nine percent of the work.

Victor smiles and nods, because all good things must come to an end, and turns off the game. He shoves his hands in his pockets as they walk towards the front door. There’s a goodbye on his lips that doesn’t seem to want to come out.

Yuuri is halfway through the door when he falters. He turns around on his heels, a bit too fast, a bit too awkward. He refuses to meet Victor’s eyes. “I… Have a day off. Sunday.”

“Okay,” Victor says stupidly.

“Would you want to… Um…?”

He blinks, even takes a step back, as though the words had had a physical effect on him. “On your day off? You’d want to…?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri gushes, and rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, if  _you_ want to.”

They haven’t even said what they’re doing yet, but Victor’s heart is racing. “I’d love to,” he admits, and can’t stop smiling. “Maybe… Maybe in the afternoon?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, nodding quickly. “In the afternoon.”

“Sunday afternoon,” Victor says, thoughts blazing with anticipation. “I’ll see you Sunday afternoon, Yuuri Katsuki. When we… What are we doing, exactly?”

“We can get lunch,” Yuuri suggests.

“I know a great pizza place.”

He cringes, and Victor laughs.

“Just kidding. Hey, do you want to hear a joke about pizza?”

Yuuri seems to know what’s coming next.

Victor sighs, “Never mind, it’s too cheesy.”

He groans, loudly, and steps out of the door. “Bye, Victor. I’m leaving before I change my mind about getting lunch with you.”

“You’re going to make me fall to pizzas, Yuuri,” Victor complains, watching him walk away. “Get it? _Pizzas_ instead of  _pieces?_ ”

“I’ve heard all of these a thousand times before.”

“See you Sunday. Hey, hang on a second.”

Yuuri pauses, looks over his shoulder.

Victor smirks. “I  _dough_  not know how I’ll be able to wait.”

“Okay. Date cancelled,” Yuuri declares, suppressing a smile behind his hand as he turns the corner.

“Yuuri, wait!” Victor calls, and sprints after him.


End file.
